


Maker's Balls And Then Some

by FanForFen (puddinghead3)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Accidental Bonding, Accidental Stimulation, Accidents, Angst and Feels, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Humor, Author loves to chat in the Comments, Awkward Boners, Awkward Conversations, Awkward Flirting, Awkward Sexual Situations, Awkward Tension, Bad Decisions, Bad Flirting, Bad Guys Made Them Do It, Bad Pick-Up Lines, Bodily Functions, Consensual Violence, Dark Solas, Demons Are Assholes, Demons Made Them Do It, Dom/sub Undertones, Dominance, Embarrassment, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Everyone Has Issues, Everyone Needs A Hug, Everything Hurts, Everything is Beautiful and Everything Hurts, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Fun, Graphic Description, Hilarity Ensues, How Do I Tag, Humor, Hurts So Good, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, I Don't Even Know, I Love You, I Tried, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I'm Sorry, Inappropriate Humor, Jealousy, M/M, Magical Accidents, Minor Original Character(s), Modern Girl in Thedas, Multi, My First Fanfic, Not Suitable/Safe For Work, Original Character(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV First Person, Plot Twists, Plotty, Sarcasm, Self-Insert, Sex Is Fun, Sexual Humor, Sexual Violence, Sexy, Sexy Cullen, Sexy Solas, Sexy Times, So Wrong It's Right, Tags Are Fun, The Author Regrets Nothing, Threats of Violence, Violence, Weird Fluff, Weird Plot Shit, Weirdness, What Was I Thinking?, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-03
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-01-29 00:30:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 37
Words: 143,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12619048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/puddinghead3/pseuds/FanForFen
Summary: So when life hands you lemons, you make a sandcastle out of poop... a poopcastle. And you sculpt a big one, with turrets and drawbridges, the whole nineteen thousand yards, until you can't even see the sky anymore. Because Life, Fate, the Maker, or whatever I should call the motivating factor behind this trainwreck of my story is a sadistic SOB. If I ever get the opportunity to meet whomever is pulling the twisted strings, I will absolutely shove a handful of my special castle-sand right in their face.How you like THOSE lemons, huh?!?I sound a little angry don't I? A bit prickly pear with the threats and all? Maybe you're just thinking I'm unhinged.Trust me, you would be too if all this was happening to you... What, you don't believe me? You're still unsure? If more convincing is what you need, then read on...I'll make a believer out of you yet.





	1. Are You Afraid of the Dark?

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I finally took the plunge and posted something I've written... I'm so new at this I squeak, so please be kind! I've been inspired by so many of the FABULOUS folks on here, and decided to put my own twist on things. 
> 
> I've read and re-read until I'm sick of it, but I'm sure there are still mistakes. Sorry in advance! 
> 
> Thanks for clicking and giving me a shot!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BTW: Of course everything belongs to Bioware

It's the explosive pounding in my head that pulls me slowly from sleep.

My brain feels like it's trying to abandon ship through the back of my skull. Pounding is not a strong enough description. More like- agonizing pain. 

I've had headaches and migraines, I've had hangovers and the flu. After thirty-five years I've experienced many unpleasant things, but this puts everything else previous to shame.

Groggily, I raise my hands to clutch my throbbing head. The rattling clink that accompanies the motion works better at clearing the lingering brain fog than any quad-shot espresso. Snapping completely awake, my body is instantly on high alert, my eyes darting around in growing alarm.

There's no light source that I can tell which leaves my surrounding in heavy shadow, very unfamiliar shapes that I can barely see. Blindly I search around with my hands, there's something that feels like a metal ring bolted to a cobblestone floor with some kind of large spike. There's a link of heavy chain threaded through it, and that chain is attached to metal manacles around my wrists.

WHAT THE FUCK???

Heart racing, I tug on the chains, the rough metal chafing on bare skin, every movement is a new slice of awful. I try again. And again. Making no progress, I start to really panic. Breathing hard and fast, I keep pulling and jerking until perspiration is dripping in my eyes and pouring down my back. Just as I'm drawing in a breath to call for help, I catch a glint of green in my palm.

What in the...

It starts to glow, as if my sudden awareness of it triggered something. Streaks of green lightening crackle all around me and in that quick flash of light I see stone walls and a heavily barred door. Before I can process anything a whirlwind of searing, white hot agony flares up my arm.

This is the kind of pain that makes you wish for death.

I scream.

My screams echo in the darkness and I don't know if I'm more scared or relieved that no one comes rushing. The pain is all-consuming for minutes or possibly an eternity, I have no perception of time. 

They go on and on, eventually choked off by bile as I vomit violently, every muscle in my body contracting painfully as I heave until the world goes blessedly dark.


	2. Grunt Work

I awake with a groan.

Or I guess it would have been a groan, but it sounds more like a strangled croak.

Why am I so thirsty?

My skin is cold and clammy, and there's a deep ache that penetrates all the way to my bones. I reach down blindly to pull up my quilt that I must have accidentally kicked off in my sleep, only to hear the telltale clinking of chains. Reality comes crashing back and I open my eyes in horror.

It wasn't a nightmare?

Exhaling with a grunt, I try to move, each and every muscle protesting as I slowly stretch as much as I can within the confines of my containment, blood returning to my abused body with an uncomfortable tingle.

None of this makes any sense. Have I been kidnapped?

My mind shoots to some of the horrible stories I've seen on the news and a chill goes down my spine.

“Help! Somebody please help me!”

It comes out a rasp, my throat raw from screaming.

I can't just stay here and wait for whatever fucking psycho brought me here to come back. With no food or water I'll just get weaker. I refuse to die here, alone and chained like a rabid dog.

With unshed tears burning behind my eyes I test the restraints once more, redoubling my efforts in desperation. Metal scrapes and delicate skins tears in response to the jerky desperate movements, a burning bile churning in my stomach like the fires of Mordor.

A warm wetness drips from my wrists.

Think... THINK... Maybe I can slip my hands free?

My stomach cramps hard, but I don't look down. I don't need to see to know the damage I'm doing to myself, my whole body is shaking but the blood is helping the manacles slide.

A sliver of hope.

I. Must. Get. Free.

I take a deep breath through the nose that burns my lungs, psyching myself up. Locking my jaw tightly, I give one last violent tug and the manacles clatter to the ground. My stomach turns inside out, dry heaving repeatedly until I collapse in a heap, like booze-soaked taffeta on prom night.

So tired... Maybe I'll just rest here for a minute...

My vision blurs to black, laying there on the hard stone with blood cooling on my fingertips.


	3. We're not in Texas... Are We??

There's flickering warmth on my face and I'm relieved.

Those horrid horrid dreams felt so real. I must have some seriously repressed shit for my own subconscious to torture me like that.

I need a damn therapist.

I stretch lazily, yawning wide. My entire body feels bruised and achy as hell, like I've been beat very thoroughly with a baseball bat. My muscles are sore and slow to respond, and my wrists are itching like crazy. I'm automatically moving to scratch them when my fingernails snag on a barrier of rough cloth.

That shouldn't be there... I never sleep in long sleeves, I'm more of a tank top and panties kind of girl. When it gets cold I usually just pile on more blankets until I'm snuggled in a cocoon of warm softness.

My eyes snap open to see a face looming over me only inches away. Startled out of my mind, I screech like a banshee. The sound is raw and inhuman, completely unrecognizable as my own. Scrambling away with all the grace of a newborn foal, I wedge myself in the corner of this horrid stone room as far away as possible.

Oh my god. Oh my god.

There is a very real and very upset woman glaring at me. A woman who bares an uncanny resemblance to Cassandra Pentaghast from Dragon Age. That's just freaky...

I blink several times, expectantly.

For what exactly? For her to disappear?

I know it's an unrealistic hope, but I'm still crestfallen when she doesn't... Instead, her lips pull back in a sneer, drawing my attention to a deep scar bisecting one side of her face from cheekbone to jaw and my mouth drops open in surprise.

Either this is a very very strange coincidence or this is a scarily committed cosplayer.

“Tell me why we shouldn't kill you now,” She hisses and takes a threatening step forward.

My mind goes blank and my heart stops beating for a second. I stare at her in horror. Not knowing what else to do, I hold out my hands in the universal surrender gesture, noticing what looks like Ace bandages made of course linen wrapped around each wrist.

I clear my throat and regret it immediately when it burns like I've swallowed battery acid. I wet lips with a tongue that feels twice it's normal size, wincing at the rusty taste of copper.

“…….Please….don't....” My voice sounds foreign.

Fuck, it hurts to speak!

“The conclave is destroyed, everyone who attended is dead... except for you.” She continues pacing closer, the torchlight making shadows dance on her skin.

Wait. What??

My eyes dart to the side. Torches. Actual motherfucking torches being held by six guards, three on each side of my quaint little dungeon room.

How did I freaking not notice six freaking people? Why are they dressed in weirdo garb like medieval knights?

Then I realize what she just said.

I blink again, my jaw slack in disbelief.

Conclave? No way! This is the damn cutscene in the during introduction of Dragon Age Inquisition. That's just... no… that's impossible! 

Either this bitch is crazy, or I am...

The torches flicker and sputter, the silence stretching out uncomfortably. I shift, clenching my hands into fists at my sides, not able to process what the hell is happening.

Why am I paying so much attention to damn torches? And why is she still staring at me? It's like she's waiting for something...Oh… Like for me the speak.

Is she a fictional character from my subconscious or a gaming nerd gone wacko? What on earth do I say either way?

I try like my life depends on it to think of the game script because it seems like my life really does depend on it.

Okay... No biggie... Except I've only played the game a few times. I mean, I've played certain scenes waaaaaay more and I've read stories, very lovely and sometimes explicit stories, but that doesn't help me now. I didn't know I was going to be tested on my Dragon Age trivia in a terrifyingly real and…

Her eyeballs are like lasers trying to burn the answers directly from my brain. The pressure of her gaze cuts off my inner ramblings but makes it extremely difficult to focus.

“You think I did it.” I manage croak out. It's the only pre-written response I can remember and I'm scared to go off the script before things even begin.

Things? What things? How long exactly do I think this charade/mental break is going to last?

“Explain this!” Cassandra suddenly growls, lunging forward and grabbing my hand.

As if by her command, or by the perfect plot-timing gods of gaming, a flare of emerald sparks. The flash of molten lava certainly catches my attention. I squeal in pain and she shoves the offending appendage back at me like a hot potato. The flare of light and coordinating pain is very brief, stopping as quickly as it started, but it still leaves me trembling and trying desperately not to whimper.

“I... can't.” I grit out, getting frustrated at her, at the weakness of my body, at everything.

“What do you mean you can't?!” She snaps back sounding just as irritated.

“Did I stutter?” My damn fool words are followed by a hacking cough. My throat is desert. A dry, raw, itchy, desert.

My mind wanders deliriously, because Cassandra is obviously a very patient person and I apparently have all the time in the world. Hmmm... What was that infamous Anakin Skywalker line? Something about not liking sand because it's coarse and rough and irritating and it gets everywhere.

It literally feels like my spit has turned into gravel, and it tastes like ass.

Ass-gravel.

I smother the hysterical laughter before it can bubble up and get me a nice shiny sword in the gut. A hand flashes out under my chin, and with the front of my shirt balled in her fist, she drags me to her until we are almost nose to nose.

“Excuse me? I believe I misheard you.” Her words are cold and clipped at the end.

I'm blink frantically trying to keep up with what's going on, trying to draw breath without hyperventilating.

Don't fling sarcasm at the unhinged and heavily armoured lady, you dumbass! I need this, whatever this shitshow is, done. I'm obviously losing it, big time.

“I don't know how it got there.” I exclaim, backpedaling desperately, as emphatically as my abused vocal cords will allow.

“You're lying!” Cassandra snarls and backhands me across jaw with her other hand, snapping my head to the side, tearing my shirt, and dropping me to my knees. My mouth fillls with blood and a spit it out at her feet defiantly - like any true badass from an action movie.

Or, that was my goal, except I never quite learned to hock a loogie properly- so it kind of just dribbles down my chin and lands at my feet instead.

Even my own spit is mocking me. Damn it.

I brace myself for another hit. I can see that she wants to, her fingers inching toward the hilt of her very deadly very real looking sword.

“We need him, Cassandra” A voice from the shadows.

There were shadows? What about all the torches?

Holy nugget, don't get distracted by the fucking torches again! That is seriously the least important thing in my current situation! 

Leather boots stalk soundlessly closer with purposeful strides, circling me twice where I'm kneeling on the floor.

Leliana.

My cosplay crazies idea is looking less and less likely. Which leaves what? That I just randomly woke up in a torture dungeon in Thedas? Sounds like a great story idea, but an absolute shit deal in real life.

I'm relieved at her interference. Cassandra backs off immediately but begins pacing restlessly instead, like a caged lion resentful at being contained. The future Inquistion's spymaster crosses her arms and just stands there, her cold, calculating, eyes narrowed.

What now?

I can't help but shrink in on myself, instinctively trying to make myself as small and unthreatening as possible.

Then it hits me.

Did Leliana just say... 'he'?

But I'm not a...

Reflexively I look down and my jaw hits the floor. My chest is flat, and not the flat of an unfortunately unendowed female.

No.

Pectoral muscles and no mammary glad kind of flat. I stare disbelievingly through the rip in my shirt. Underneath the gaping tear is a very lean, slightly muscular chest, a leather belt further down and… 

Oh.…

The dots are close enough together now that they almost form a line.

Fuck me in the ear with a shovel.

Maker's balls.… I HAVE BALLS.


	4. Dude, Where's My Rack??

Okay...

I'm either bat-shit nuts, my marbles so beyond lost that a bloodhound couldn't find them, or I've been somehow teleported to an imaginary place and this is my new reality. And if the latter is the truth, then isn't this supposed to be a **fantasy** world?

I should have luxurious tresses down to my ass that never get tangled and air-dry to a metallic glisten in under five minutes. I should have a waist small enough to almost span with a couple of large man hands. My beauty should make everyone stop and stare breathlessly, instantly in love. I should have breasts for days like a damn Renaissance Barbie!

This godforsaken place is just not fucking fair!

I'm both horrified and **pissed**. I glare at the flat chest in utter hatred, willing it with all my being to change into a spectacular pair of tits. Praying to every god I can think of for something to change.

 _Nothing_.

No.

Just no.

_Please?? Pretty please with a platinum cherry on top?_

Yep. Nothing.

Completely disgusted, I raise my head just in time to catch a confused look pass between the assassin and the warrior, then they turn my direction simultaneously.

“I don't understand!” I want to yell it at them, but it comes out a croak.

Leliana's eyes soften slightly in what I believe is pity, “Do you remember what happened? How this all began?” Her words are surprisingly gentle.

I look down trying in vain to ignore my painfully flat chest, and land on my still cradled hand, flexing against the stiffness in my joints. That's a hard question to answer.

“I don't remember.” That's true enough at least.

I hear an unlady-like snort, but I continue to look straight at the woman whose sympathy I seem to have garnered.

“There was something... Maybe a woman?” Its a stretch, but I know enough about the storyline to lead them the direction that they already want to go.

Both of them stand straighter and give me their full attention. “A woman?” They say almost in unison.

“Yes, I think so. Maybe she was reaching out for me? I really don't remember much.”

“Go to the forward camp, Leliana. I will take him to the rift.” Cassandra reaches for me and I fight the urge to flinch. I'm unsuccessful and I see a brief flash of something. Regret? Before she clasps my forearm, carefully avoiding the bandages.

That word again... 'him'. How do I get used to that?

I'm suddenly tired, my eyes burning with tears that won't come. I don't think I have a drop of moisture left in my body to spare for self-pity.

I have nothing left. I want to just crawl back in my safe corner and pretend that none of this is happening. 

With one last look at me, Leliana turns and heads out of the room, all six soldiers following behind her. And that leaves me alone with the angry woman in heavy armor who's prone to violence against helpless prisoners. 

“What in the hell is happening?” It comes out a whisper, more to myself than anything else.

“It... will be easier to show you” Cassandra sighs like a deflated balloon, all previous anger giving way to tiredness.

She takes my elbow and helps me stand, slowly leading me through dark hallways and pulling me along when I stumble clumsily. This body will definitely take some time to get used to.

Hopefully I'll be magically teleported somewhere else before then...

 


	5. Blinded by the Light

Brightness welcomes me with searing enthusiasm like an overly cheerful spotlight two millimeters from my cornea. I hear, rather than see, Cassandra stopping. The heavy scuffles sound like she's turning my direction, but it's hard to tell.

“We call it the Breach. It's a massive rift into the world of demons that grows larger with each passing hour.”

_Yeah. Big green asshole in the sky is a big deal, I get it._

I hold my hands up to shield my eyes from the burning ball of pain in this cursed sky, blinking away the kaleidoscope of floating blobs and desperately wishing for a pair of sunglasses.

A firm tug on my arms and Cassandra's securing my hands together. With a rope she got from where? She wasn't carrying a rope.

_Focus. That's not really a priority._

No, it isn't. My first priority should be finding what passes for a damn toothbrush in this place. My mouth tastes like I've been munching on roadkill, which is quite possibly the grossest thing to ever cross my mind.

I stumble yet again, almost falling on my face before catching myself. My balance is all wrong and my coordination is non-existent. My stupid man-feet are too damn big.

I wonder if there's the same rumor in Thedas that there is on Earth? Should I be a total creeper and check out Solas' feet the first chance I get? He always wears footwraps so it wouldn't really be difficult...

Then it hits me like a cement block to the chest. A crushing weighty feeling that steals my breath. I suddenly have an intense desire to run away. To hell with saving the world, I'd rather hide back in the dungeon room of horrors. Anywhere else but where Cassandra is leading me. Who she's leading me to.

_Solas_.

**Shit**.

The ancient elven trickster god that grew on me like a fungus until I couldn't even contemplate romancing another character. The fucker that broke my heart so successfully that I never even finished the damn game. Yeah, I'm not going anywhere near…

“...and unless we act, the breach may very well grow until it swallows the world.” Cassandra continues grimly.

_Wait! What??_ I missed everything she just said.

My left hand chooses that moment to surprise us both by lighting up like a lightsaber. It happens so quickly that I have no time to brace myself before a rush of scalding acid shoots up my arm, more intense than ever before. Green static surrounds the mark, crackling menacingly before exploding and shredding my hand. I collapse to my knees with ridiculously loud screams that sound like they're clawing their way from the depths of my soul.

_This shit fucking hurts!!!_

Thankfully, the pain is short-lived as if the mark is just giving me a SUPER friendly reminder of why running away is a stupid idea. I'm left shaking, hugging my injured hand close to my chest in protection, as close as I can WITH MY HANDS STILL TIED. I glare at Cassandra while I build up the courage to look at it, expecting something mangled. It's perfectly fine. It looks relatively the same but the green has spread further, a lot like a fucking fungus.

_Damn that Solas._

I collapse flat on my back for a moment, catching my breath and gazing at the huge swirling green asshole. I have no desire to move from this spot. None.

_So if I could get Cassandra to just cut my arm off now, would the magic return to its rightful owner? It kinda **is** like a package sent to the wrong address... And that would save us all a hell of a lot of pain and suffering..._

“Each time the Breach expands, your mark spreads... and it is killing you.” Cassandra interrupts my morbid brainstorming, dangling a waterskin in front of my face.

I blink.

**_WATER_**.

With a very embarrassing guttural sound, I move lightening fast and snatch it from her. I want to pet it. I want to croon 'my precious' against it's lovely tanned skin. But more than that, I want to drink.

The first several mouthfuls are swish, gargle, spit, and repeat. I use my finger to scrub the filth off my teeth as best as I can before greedily chugging the sweet sweet liquid heaven, water overflow dribbling down my chin. I don't give a shit that I look like a creepy possessed golem with his shiny gold ring. I don't stop until the waterskin is empty and my stomach sloshes when I move.

I wiggle a little - music to my ears.

“It may be the key to stopping all this... She says, nodding to my mark and giving me a weird look as she helps me to my feet. “But we don't have much time.” Then she pauses like she's waiting for something.

“Okay….?” _What does she want me to say?_

Cassandra looks confused.

“Then...?”

“Then… Let's hurry this shit up!” Handing back the now empty waterskin, I fall into step behind her as we continue on.

Everyone in Haven seems to have stopped their current task to watch the show, all of them with varying degrees of disgust. I'm not used to garnering such instant dislike. Ignoring insults, both verbal and non-verbal, is not something I do easily, but seriously, what am I supposed to do? Confront the entire populous of this makeshift town? Challenge them all to a duel to defend my honor?

Cassandra drones on in a monologue that I've heard before, so I tune it out. Instead, I pay very close attention to my footing. I absolutely refuse to fall on my face while this many people are watching my every move. Besides, even though I feel much better after her gift of water, we're heading through a rough snow-covered terrain and I've never been much of a hiker, plus my new body is still weak, my legs are still unsteady.

If was playing this instead of living it, I'd be skimming the text and pushing buttons to skip ahead. The introduction gets boring if you've already seen it, read it, and played it before. I know I should listening intently and observing my surroundings carefully, cataloging anything useful for later, but my tired brain just doesn't care. I feel like I'm listening to a Sunday sermon that I've heard several times before after a late night of partying.

Which is exactly why I'm not paying attention when Cassandra abruptly stops. I barely catch the movement in my peripheral vision and almost ram right into her. “Until the Breach is sealed,” she says, turning toward me and and drawing a dagger to cut through my ropes without preamble.

_Finally_.

I do a full body stretch until the stitch in my side twinges, making me gasp and clutch my ribs. Mumbling curses under my breath, I look around for the first time in awhile. I have no idea where we are... Apparently, snow covered trails all look very similar to a newbie adventurer like myself.

“There will be a trial. I can promise no more.” Cassandra warns and not really knowing how to answer, I just shrug. Another twinge, this time my right shoulder blade, aborts my movement and I grimace in discomfort.

Cassandra looks at me impassively. Well almost... I think I see a hint of sympathy. “Come, it is not far.” She waves me forward. “Open the gate! We're heading into the valley.” She bellows at the two guards that look little older than teenagers. They scramble, tripping over themselves in their haste to do her bidding and I sympathize with them, she is one seriously intimidating woman.

I follow behind her in silent reluctance, like a lamb to slaughter. Time passes this way, snow crunching under our boots as we trudge along. Maybe I should using this time to be productive and gather Elfroot as we go? I'm sure that would be helpful, but after examining the grassy sprigs poppng up randomly along our route I realize that without some text floating above it I have no idea what plant I should be looking for.

_Seriously? What am I even doing? I don't know how to forage or mine ore, or do any of this! I'm not a freaking hero, I have nothing to offer these people!_

I don't belong here. 

The urge to run is overwhelming.

_Maybe if I can get far enough away from this pulsing green hemorrhoid…_

Cassandra is glaring at me over her shoulder, scowling angrily and I do my best to clamp down on my mounting panic. Does the woman have only two facial expressions?

She impatiently beckons me to hurry.

Yeah... Yeah...

I scowl back, but I do pick up the pace at her insistence, shoving my insecurities as far back in my mind as I can. I hurry as fast as my limbs will go- only for my legs to buckle mere minutes later.

“AAAAH!” I cry out as a spike of familiar pain, like the slice of a knife, shoots from my palm all the way up to the my shoulder.

_Again? How many times will this happen?_

I drop to my knees like a stone, instinctively cradling my hand again, pressing it against my chest as if my death grip can somehow keep the mark from spreading. Gritting my teeth, I try not cry, rocking back and forth on my heels.

_I will not scream again like a wuss. I… will... not..._

The pain recedes and I lay there once more on the ground at Cassandra feet. The freezing air burning my lungs as I catch my breath. I might just lay here the rest of the afternoon gasping, unsure of my ability to stand, but thankfully there's a big burly woman to haul me to my feet.

So I just stand there and wheeze instead.

“The pulses are coming faster now.” Her voice is the softest I've ever heard it and she hovers at my elbow, as if afraid that I might topple back over.

“I'm fine.” I say with false bravado, waving off her concern. I fight to stay standing, to stay consious, blinking away the dark haze lingering around the edges of my vision. 

_Hell, I'm afraid I'll topple back over too._

“Let's get this shitshow over with," I say, forcing my legs to walk again. I have to keep moving, keep myself propelling forward. It's either that or give up and lie here until I die from exposure, not a great alternative. 

Emotions flash across her features, confusion giving way to grudging respect. She backs off with the mother hen stuff and sizes me up, keeping pace at my side until, like I expected she eventually would, she turns dismissively and walks briskly ahead.

“The larger the Breach grows, the more rifts appear... the more demons we face,” she says with her back to me. And with that ominous parting remark, we continue on our never-ending quest to reach folks I'm desperately wanting to avoid. 

Good thing Cassandra and I are besties now. 

Hahahaha!

Right...

“Are we there yet?” A very logical question aimed at the back of her head. Yes, a logical question with a strong hint of whine. I can't help it.

Cassandra ignores me, not bothering to reply.

Smothering a grin, I wait for about thirty seconds...

“How about **now**?”

At that, she stops and looks back at me incredulously. Apparently, there's an adorable little vein that pops out on her forehead when she's contemplating murdering someone. 

My smile fades, amusement switching to alarm.

She's mid-snarl, which is why she doesn't see the big ass flaming fireball heading straight for us until a second too late. I watch like an idiot, in dumbfounded disbelief as the bridge crumbles beneath our feet.

I'm vaguely aware of Cassandra's sound of alarm as the world tilts.


	6. Mary Sue, Mary Sue - Where Are You?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> KUDOS!!! Lovely hugs and kisses for the fabulous folks that enjoy my particular brand of humor! I'm trying my best to convey the story rattling around in my brain, but there are always ways to improve. Please feel free to leave me comments and tell me what you think, just don't break my heart <3

I have a full second of exhilarating weightlessness, like the addictive adrenaline rush at the height of a really steep rollercoaster, before my right shoulder smacks into something  **hard**.

I don't even have time to get a full curse word out before I'm plummeting to my doom. 

Bouncing roughly back and forth against debris is just as uncomfortable as it sounds, similar to being a fleshy pinball in a maniacal pinball machine. After hitting every damn inanimate object on my way down, I end up awkwardly sprawled on the remains of what used to be a very sturdy crate.

**Pain**.

Rolling over, I breathe into the icy ground, incoherent whimpers muffled by snow. My bruises are breeding like exuberant bunnies, procreating into oblivion until there's not a single inch of my body that doesn't feel battered to high heaven. 

I'm fucking exhausted. I just want to go home, crawl into my bed with it's overly-expensive mattress, and live like a hermit for a month.

But, the shitshow must go on...

I groan and hiss in displeasure as I slowly uncurl from my fetal position, getting up with the ever-present help of my trusty pal Cassandra.

“Thank...” is all I get out before Cassandra shouts directly into my eardrum, “ **Stay behind me**!”

She shoves me back and I fall again, landing in the snow with the same amount of flawless grace as before, but this time on my ass.

_Seriously? What the…?_

Then I see them bubbling up from the ground.

_Oh... right. Demons._

Pivoting, my savior charges bravely at the creature with a wordless battlecry, drawing her sword and shield effortlessly. I watch in amazement as she hacks and slashes her way to victory. 

Being a spectator this close to a real fight is insane! The closest I've ever come is the scripted and staged jousting matches at Medieval Times and the Renaissance Fair... I'm overwhelmed with... well with everything right now.

My only contribution to the entire deadly exchange is the lovely heart-shaped butt print in the powdery white ground.

_Demon sludge_.

She's fighting horrifying demon sludge and I have zero survival skills. Less than zero. I was never in Girl Scouts, I don't think I can even start a fire without a lighter or matches. I've only truly been camping a sum total of once in my life and that was in a RV!

The panicked whimpers that I hadn't noticed I was still making turn into chocked sobs.

_I'm such a wimp._

I watch the easy grace in which she engages her enemy, with equal parts fear and envy. Breathing a huge sigh of relief when Cassandra finally slashes and bashes the spawn of Satan into submission.

Then the ice starts bubbling right at my feet. 

_This universe really gets a kick out of mocking me..._

I stare in mute horror, trembling like a chihuahua, as the frozen ground hisses and sputters around the nightmare crawling out of it. The demon thing reaches for me in slow motion, raising one of a clawed hand and opening a big maw in anticipation of an easy meal. 

_That's a lot of teeth._

Throwing myself to my feet, I scramble away from impeding death, all recent traces of exhaustion forgotten as I flee in utter terror. Whipping my head back and forth, looking for somewhere to run, but all viable escape routes are blocked by fallen rocks and debris. 

Of course they are. 

THAT would be way too easy. 

I'm trapped in an icy ravine with a soul-sucking ooze.

There's a chorus of high pitched screeches from the general direction of where Cassandra recently charged, but I'm too scared out of my mind to look away from the monster moving towards me.

_Okay, so I'm officially trapped with **several** soul-sucking oozes... And Cassandra the Castrator won't be able to make it over here fast enough to help me. _

I'm so going to die.

Out of options, I duck behind an outcropping of rock, flattening myself against a nearby boulder. Clutching my chest, my breath coming in gasps, I feel lightheaded like I'm going to pass out.

_I think I'm having a heart attack. Can I die from fear?_

My demon stalker lets out a loud, shrill noise way too freaking close and I feel a rush of cold air as it takes a swipe at me with pointy razor fingers from around the side of my not-so-super-secret hiding spot. 

“Eiiiiiieeeeiiiii!!!” The shrillness of my surprised scream rivals the demon's inhuman screech.

Purely on instinct alone, I throw myself to the side, running full-tilt away from the danger.

Again.

_I'm going to die. I'm going to die._

My surroundings are a blur as I sprint haphazardly through snow and slippery ice, wracking my brain for ideas. Any idea at this point will do. Surviving a level one creature in the beginning of the game didn't seem nearly this difficult, even on Nightmare!

_Maybe I can avoid the claws and teeth of ultimate death until Cassandra can come kill it?_

It's the best plan I have and I'm correcting the angle of my flight when my foot catches on something I missed in my blind terror. The world spins, my arms windmilling ineffectually, and I face-plant into the damn endless snow.

**Again**.

_Really??!! Does fate have to intervene right now?_

As my head clears the evil snow pile, a menacing growl makes my blood freeze. Without another thought, I'm throwing myself back on my feet, looking around in panic. Tearing my gaze away from the creature trying it's best to carve up my ass, my eyes fall on the broken crate that I tripped over. 

The broken  **weapon** crate.

_Nevermind! Good 'ol fate deserves a big fat kiss!_

How could I have forgotten? 

_This is it!_

This is the moment in the game where the player picks up their weapon based on their earlier profession selection during character creation. Then, use said weapon to kick some stupid demon ass!!!

_Except, I'm a shit Inquisitor and I shouldn't be here._

My excitement deflates faster than a dollar store balloon. I've never even held a bow, I've never fought with a sword or daggers, and I've definitely never used magic! Before being impossibly teleported to Hell, I was a workaholic hairstylist which is great for making mortgage payments, but isn't much of a marketable skill in this frozen wasteland...

What am I gonna fight with? Scissors? A flat iron? Maybe I can stab an eyeball with a rat-tooth comb?

There's no way I'm gonna survive in this world.

Poking halfway out the side I see...

 

A staff.

 

_**Oh for fuck's sake! Really???** _


	7. Mary Sue - You're Full of Poo

**A mage staff...**

I grit my teeth against hysterical laughter.

Why couldn't it have been daggers? I mean, I'm not a professional by any definition of the word, but anyone can successfully stab something really damn large with a big kitchen knife, right? **However**... I have never ONCE played as a mage. Not in ANY of the Dragon Age games.

So basically to sum up, I have been given absolutely nothing that can keep me alive.

_Just perfect._

I barely have the time to grab the stupid fancy stick and retreat before sharp talons shred the crate I was just glaring daggers at. 

_Hahaha!!! 'Glaring daggers'... If only..._

The damn demon thing still hasn't given up, it's coming after me without any reprieve. I desperately look over to Cassandra. Maybe she's near enough to the end of her fight that she can come to my rescue soon?

Unfortunately, she's waist-deep in the midst of battling two demons of her own, singlehandedly.

_Show off._

Yep, I can't rely on her to save me from this mess, but possibly I can do this by myself? I've been given a staff so I must be a mage right?

_Here goes nothing..._

I hold the staff out Avatar-style in my shaking grasp. My hands feel weak, even my fingers are trembling as I adjust my grip until it feels secure.

Or at least, less like I'm about to drop it. 

Taking my best calming breath, I exhale slowly and count to five. Wracking my brain, I try to remember how the various fanfiction authors described magic. Something about feeling a vibration in the air, or visualizing webs and cords of color, and...

Nothing happens.

_'Here goes nothing' is right..._

Fuck my life.

I feel like I'm holding a regular tree branch. An aesthetically pleasing tree branch, but that's it. No vibrations, no magical pull... no feelings, nothing.

 **FUCK**!!!

Why, oh why, couldn't I be like everyone else who can find a weapon, strap it on, and bravely jump into battle with these nightmare-goop creatures, kicking ass and taking names immediately???

Apparently, my demon nemesis is not intimidated in the slightest by my awesomely aggressive attack of just standing there breathing meditatively, and lunges at me again. Jumping backwards out of claw-range, I almost drop my only weapon.

_Don't just stand there like a dumbass! Do something!_

My heart is thundering in my ears. For lack of **anything** else, I start flailing wildly with my new special stick, like I'm squashing cockroaches with a broom. Pummeling its misshapen head as best I can. Screaming the entire time, my eyes wide and wild.

_Honestly, EXACTLY how I am when I'm trying to behead roaches with a broom._

I just need to hold out until rescue comes.

For once it seems fate and I are on speaking terms, because it's not long before Cassandra appears like Conan the Barbarian, thrusting her sword right through the demon’s midsection. With a roar that has my ears ringing, the demon crumbles like dried out Play-doh.

_Holy shit! Thank goodness that's finally over!_

I wince as the adrenaline gives way to exhaustion, and sag against my staff, using it as a crutch.

_That was..._

So totally NOT how it happens in the game.

Cassandra turns to me and glares like I've done something horrible. I take a stumbling step back in confusion, dragging my staff with me. Her gaze is fierce, her hair disheveled, her sword still at the ready.

"Drop. Your. Weapon. **Now**." She enunciates every word very slowly and very clearly.

I can't help but snicker at her ridiculous use of the word 'weapon'.

_Apparently I have a death wish._

Did she actually pay attention to **any** of my "fight"? A toddler throwing a temper tantrum is more destructive than anything I managed the entire time. 

Sunlight glints off a very sharp sword that she steadily levels at my face. She's deadly serious and I can’t get rid of the damn thing fast enough. I didn't even want it to begin with, I only used it because I had no other choice.

It lands in the snow with a muted thump.

She gives me the hairy eyeball at my instant acquiescence, sizing me up. Not knowing what she's looking for, I remain as still as possible, not fidgeting of course. Not all all. Heroic, badass, awe-inspiring Inquisitors do not fidget.

_Worst Inquisitor in history._

She looks from me to the useless bit of wood on the ground and back up at me again. The silence stretches on uncomfortably and I bite back saying something stupid just to move things along. 

Finally, she shakes her head, looking seriously unimpressed. "Wait," she says, sheathing her sword, she leans down to scoop up the staff. “I cannot protect you, and I cannot expect you to be defenseless.”

“No really Cassandra, that's okay, I'd rather you protect me.” I interrupt emphatically, making a negative motion with my hand. 

She looks at me with her judgey judgey eyes before shoving my new stick of wonders at my chest for me to grab. Which I do automatically.

Barely.

_Well, it was worth a try..._

_Fine. Let's do this. Stupid stick..._

“Oh Woody, how I've missed you so...” I croon sweet nothings, the sarcasm in my voice is palatable. I hug the useless piece of wood in my arms with mock adoration, petting it absentmindedly.

Her dark eyes widen in shock and her jaw falls slack.

I widen my own innocently, in response. “What? Do mages not name their 'weapons' here?”

It looks like her own snort catches her off guard. It's a snort of dismissal? Or humor? They seem so versatile that I can't tell...

Not knowing what to make of my clever weirdness, she ignores me instead, and strides away with determination. I take her cue, and hurry after the broad shape of quickly retreating back. We continue on, moving rocks and debris out of our way as necessary, Cassandra with her brawn because she's a badass and me using my stick as a lever.

I guess the thing not completely useless after all. Maybe I can sell it later? I'm gonna need an actual weapon I can use, or at least some cash if I successfully get the holy hell away from here.

_Or is it silver pieces? What is the currency here again?_

After awhile of walking in silence, Cassandra glances over at me. "I should remember you agreed to come willingly," she mumbles begrudgingly.

_I did? I'm pretty sure I was mostly dragged **unwillingly** up until this point. _

The next four hundred hours pass with me frequently stubbing my toes on NOTHING, and having a colorful internal cursing rant at the injustices of my current life and my overall lack of awesomeness.

_How much further is it for goodness sake?_

"Shouldn't we have brought other soldiers with us?" I ask when the quiet gets too loud. Besides, it seems like a sensible question. 

"Most of our forces are otherwise engaged, either at the forward camp or fighting. "Don't worry, Prisoner, we'll run into them soon enough," she replies, her armoured feet crunching in the snow as we head up a small hill.

When we reach the crest, I stop abruptly, fear gripping my mind once again when I recognize where we are. With a nervous swallow, I look down at the demons slithering aimlessly around.

_Like dead souls in the River Nix._

This world is just fucking unnatural. It truly is like Hell… with snow. Soooo, I guess it really IS a cold day in Hell? Ha!! I'm so lame...

Cassandra charges past me with no warning while I stand there gawking uselessly. Without any hesitation, she pushes directly into the fray, yelling a challenge with her weapons unsheathed.

_The woman is just plain crazy._

She bashes one with her shield and engages another with her sword, seamlessly switching her attention between both. With every crash and growl from the smack-down below, I grip my staff tighter until my knuckles are white with strain. No amount of pep-talk is going to psych me up enough to willingly join in the battle.

_I barely made it out alive last time._

Decision made, I take a step backwards, carefully retreating back down the hill, hoping She-Hulk is too occupied to notice my distinct lack of fighting enthusiasm

"If we flank them, we might gain the advantage!" She shouts from below, loud enough to be heard.

_Wait. Does she mean...?_

My body goes rigid and I grip my staff even harder. If it was sentient, I'd be choking the life out of it.

“Prisoner, get your ass down here. NOW!” Cassandra yells even louder. Great, and now she sounds  **pissed**.

_She does want me to join her! Why??? Why on earth would she want me to? Has **anyone**  besides me taken notice of the fact that I **suck** at this?_

Fuck no. Not happening! I've just spent half the goddamn day in various forms of excruciating pain while walking a thousand miles, and I'm what... five or ten minutes into the game? NO freaking WAY!

I'm resolute.

Absolutely 100%

I really don't care what she thinks of me at this point. I don't care what any of them think. I'm currently still among the living and I'd really like to keep it that way.  

Then, I back into something that sears like a bonfire. 

"Ahhhhhhhuuuukkkk!" I cry inarticulately, lunging away and beating helplessly at my back with my free hand. Reflexively, I look where I had just vacated. 

_What the shit??_

There's a floating fade monster that must that have snuck off from the pack down in the valley at some point, silently appearing behind me. I lock eyes with empty green sockets while it just hovers there. Grimly, I lift Woody like a club, preparing to swing. But before I can follow through, the damn fade ninja glows brighter and blasts an equally neon ghostly slime ball at my head.

And so, despite my earlier vehemence I find myself dodging and weaving back up the hill toward Cassandra, avoiding slime splatters as I run. 

_Better the devil you know, right?_

I look back over my shoulder one last time, weighing my options. 

_You know the saying staying 'what does not kill you makes you stronger'... I sure hope it's true, because I really don't want to die and I could REALLY use a level up right about now!_

I dive over the side.


	8. Beware of Falling Objects

In retrospect, diving haphazardly over the side of a small cliff rather than finding a much safer and less vertical path, was not the brightest idea I've ever had...

_More like, really REALLY fucking stupid._

I flail wildly, rolling and cartwheeling down the slope, trying helplessly to stop my downward momentum, using my hands to dig in as best I can. Snow is flying everywhere avalanche-style, and whatever's been successfully holding my hair back finally fails miserably, causing heavy strands to flop down my shoulders and in my eyes.

This is a very Princess Bride 'as you wish' moment... And if I wasn't so scared off my gourd, I'd be witty enough the yell it aloud during my decent.

_Even if nobody got the reference but me._

A sudden impact ends my rolling slide with a teeth rattling halt that steals all the breath from my lungs. I plow straight into metal covered legs, accidentally knocking off Cassandra's balance mid-swing.

I rake the tangled mess of hair back out of my eyeballs desperately, just in time to see her regain her footing with a single step to the side, smoothly blocking the scrabbling claws with her shield. She shoots a disgusted scowl my direction before turning with a dismissive grunt and ignoring me completely.

With my exhales still huffing in a whistling wheeze, I scramble hastily to my feet, using both hands to quickly brush off the snow and broken twigs.

 _Wait_.

Oh shit! Where's my staff?

I distinctly remember diving over the side with it securely in my hand. I scan the ruffled blanket of white surrounding me, but it's nowhere to be found.

_Hurry. Hurry._

It's like trying to find a needle in a haystack, except the needle is made of beautiful mahogany and the stack is the churned up mess I made of the ground.

The clock is ticking, I can feel it. With every second that passes, my gut makes another panicked somersault. Bile churns uncomfortably at bottom of my esophagus. 

_Damn it! Woody, where are you?_

**CRACK.** _  
_

The ominous crackling clap of thunder gets my attention immediately, my eyes shooting up to the sky. A line of glowing green appears behind the horror hoard Cassandra is repeatedly skewering as if they're really ugly cocktail weenies.

_I'm out of time._

The glowing seam unseals with a burst of light, like the breaking open of a deadly Ziploc bag. I stare mutely while demons begin falling out of the tear, fast enough that they're practically landing on top of each other. Horrifying lemmings in different shapes and sizes, more and more as the seconds tick by until there's way too many for us to handle alone.

_Well, too many for Cassandra to handle alone._

I don't understand... This isn't supposed to happen! There's not supposed to be a rift here. In the game it's another battle or three before we get to the soldiers and the cutscene.

_And they just keep coming. They're everywhere..._

It's the last straw.

The one that finally breaks the camel's back and shoves it right over the edge while screaming "This...Is...Sparta!"

It's such a shitty moment to break down, but the waterworks start anyway. A sound, that can only be described as a wail, erupts from the back of my throat.

_I can't do this. I'm ABSOLUTELY useless._

Blindly, I launch myself straight into the metal plates of an heavily armored back, clutching at Cassandra as tears mix with snot and grime in a super-attractive way. 

She turns her head, glancing over her shoulder at me. If I thought her scowl was impressive before, the profile of her unforgiving disapproval would make even The Punisher's testicles shrivel.

_She's got a point, Miss Smarty-pants. How's a breakdown going to help anything in this situation?? Suck it up!! At least **try** to be the hero this world needs, not a sniveling child cowering behind her Mommy._

I wipe my eyes and dripping nose with the back of my sleeve, my breathing hitching in small hiccuping gasps, just as Cassandra impatiently shrugs off my inopportune clinginess. Pivoting and lunging forward, she cleanly slices a couple of hunks free from the two enemy hoard nearby, politely leaving the third to me.

_Thanks, that's just freaking fabulous. You're just too kind, you'll spoil me._

I wish I could just give her the mark, and all the power and pain it contains. Cassandra would make a much better Inquisitor!

I'll have a drunken pity-party and cry into my vodka later, but for now I just need to use my brain. What can I use to defend myself since my staff went on a bon voyage cruise without me. 

_Think._

An idea dawns like a bolt of lightening. Pivoting, I lunge forward as well, again at her armored back but this time just to grab the dagger Cassandra used earlier to cut my ropes. She notices, I can tell by the obvious stiffening of her spine, but she doesn't protest.

_Okay, I have a dagger. Goody. Now, let's see if I can stab the bad guy without cutting something off myself in the process._

My eyes are gritty and my sinuses are clogged, when I turn with new-found determination to meet my enemy. I grip the dagger tightly, blinking myopically and trying to focus. It feels weirdly heavy even though I'm holding it with both hands. My palms are sweating and I'm certain I'm doing it all wrong.

_That's hardly a surprise. I must've missed the class on cutting hair with short swords in cosmetology school._

For what I lack in skill I hope I'll make up with pure tenacity and I pray that I have better aim than a stormtrooper.

_Don't die. Don't die._

I launch myself bodily at the horror movie extra. With a battle cry consisting of a whole lot of f-words, I stab over and over somewhere vaguely center mass.

_That's it, you disgusting fucker! Kiss my ass!_

Claws rake over my ribs and I wrench myself back a few steps, the dagger dripping thick darkish fluid. Breathing hard from the unaccustomed exertion, I carefully watch for an opening, a pattern to it's movements.

_Computer generated evil minions always have a fighting pattern. Right?_

It screeches at me, a high-pitched stream of something that I can't possibly understand. Probably cursing me in minion language. Gathering itself tightly, it crys out again and leaps…

_Oh shit!_

“FU-”… My repetitive use of a certain word in the English language is interrupted by a blur in my peripheral vision. Flinching and blinking rapidly, I cringe away from another attack from an unknown assailant.

I'm shocked as hell and instantly relieved when the hulking ooze body dissipates around the large crossbow bolt sticking out of its chest.

_A big crossbow bolt... From an even bigger crossbow…_

That means, Varric is here. And THAT means...

 

 _ **Him**_.

 

There's a heartwrenching sensation that echoes like the Grand Canyon throughout my entire being. Fen'harel himself, in the flesh... And what amazing flesh it is...

_The way he MOVES…_

With every step, every twist of his body, every gesture of his hand, every whirl of his staff, he brings mystical destruction in his wake. Ice appears from the very air in an arc that has the demons running scared. That man is the sexiest hailstorm of death I've ever witnessed. 

**He's magnificent.**

_The butterflies in my stomach have officially upgraded to pickaxes._

And to think, the very first time I played Dragon Age Inquisition, I wasn't attracted to the squinty bald hobo in the slightest. Commander Cullen was the stuttering suger cookie that made my heart melt with every adorable awkward encounter. But after being fully immersed for an untold number of hours and days, I found myself curious about the other romance plotlines so I turned to every gamer's reliable source - YouTube.

That's when Solas hooked me faster than an Olive Garden breadstick on a low-carb diet.

Maybe it was the Titanic level angst and the visible conflict of his tortured soul that seeped into almost every conversation. Maybe it was the razor straight edge of his jaw and the fathomless depths of his stormy eyes. Or, maybe it was seeing his fine ass decked out in shiny elven armor with the power of godhood in his glowing eyes. 

Whatever the reason, I restarted the game. With a brief period of mourning over my lost collections, and my new hot elven character in tow, I rabidly set out to make the bastard, mine. 

_And right now you're standing here reminiscing in the middle of a battleground. So wipe off the drool and get a fucking grip.There's LOTS of bad guys, remember?_

Thankfully, the 'magnificent' egg-headed bastard is blessedly preoccupied with throwing ice spikes and actually fighting demons with flawless efficiency to be aware of my gawking.

I shift my knife over to my right hand so I can wipe the sweat and ooze gore off my left before brushing my hair back out of my way impatiently. 

_I either need to braid this shit, or cut it off!_

Now that my mind is fully back from La La Lustland, I'm surprised to see a slight hazy blur outlining my hands and arms. Glancing down, the haze extends over my body and legs as well, like over-filtered selfie.

Is this what a protective barrier looks like? 

_Oh my lordy, please tell me that Solas didn't actually notice me staring at him like he was the creamy sausage gravy for my bone-dry biscuits at an all-you-can-eat buffet..._

_No._

No way can one man multi-task that much! 

_See any other magicians performing impossible feats nearby?_

The world goes grey at the edges, my vision closing in little by little. My lips are numb and tingly, the cold air burning my lungs as it rushes in and out much too rapidly.

_Am I hyperventilating?_

I think so. 

I sway slightly in place when my knees buckle. I don't see Solas move until he's standing right beside me, his free arm securely around my waist.

“Quickly, before more come through!” He shouts at me over the cacophony of crashes and shrieks.

"What?" My mind is a mess of jumbled thoughts, but with his support I gain control of myself again, quicker than I ever have before. 

_Bad timing for an anxiety attack! Lose your shit later when the danger is over!_

He doesn't bother answering with words, instead he releases his hold and grabs my left wrist, thrusting it towards the rift. I feel the exact second his bare skin touches mine and gasp at the strength of his grip.

Even though I should've expect this at some point, I look at him helplessly. I'm completely out of my element here. 

"Close it, now!" He orders loudly. 

I have to force my gaze away three times before my eyeballs obey my damn command. I observe the torn open sky with trepidation. 

_**How???** _

The mark sparks in answer to my unspoken question, and I brace for the debilitating pain. But much to my surprise there's no pain this time, only a itching tingle that crawls up my arm and when it reaches my palm, a bolt of green lightning shoots out.

When the beam touches the rift, time slows down to a crawl. I feel light as a feather and sluggish like I've had to much turkey at Thanksgiving, both strangely intertwined at the same time.

Everything that's too loud and too bright fades away, I close my eyes with a contented sigh, feeling calm for the first time since I awoke in this world. What I can only guess is magic laps in soothing waves along my body, like the light push and pull of the ocean.

I take a deep relaxing breath, blissful in this random pocket of time...

My mouth drops open in shock.

 

 _I can_ **smell** _him._

 

My senses go haywire and the air swirls around me in sudden chaos. Was I controlling it somehow? Everything is heightened tenfold, intense to the extreme.

The comforting aroma is mostly herbal, like warm amber with an undercurrent of citrus and leather. There's charred hickory, like he's been near a campfire recently. And notes of something else... something foreign that I've never experienced before.

 

 _Intoxicating_.

 

 _Addicting_.

 

My mind whispers, dark and arousing, a siren's call for my heart to pound harder and my blood to pump faster.

**A sharp pain.**

The world shifts a little as I look to where his fingers are now digging into bandage around my wrist.

 _Oh. Right_.

With a certain sadness I pull away from that comforting lull, mentally collecting all the wind that feels alive and good. I gently push the gathered energy back into the gaping green hole where it originated and with audible pop the rift closes.

My hand is thrown backwards from the force of it, tearing it from Solas' grasp.

 

_Holy crap nuggets! That actually worked!_


	9. Close Encounters of the Nerd Kind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the comments and kudos - Y'all are the best!!! Thanks for reading <3 <3 <3

* * *

Yet **another** life-threatening emergency crisis averted.

_By the skin of my teeth._

Sagging with renewed exhaustion, my body immediately stumbles. There's a dull throbbing behind my forehead that signals the beginnings of a headache.

_I'm just plain shitty at this._

I rub my temples distractedly as my overtaxed brain tries to make logical sense out of crazy crazy things.

Breaches are tears in the veil, and the veil is what separates the magical fade from this dramatically different real life deal, right?

So I was experiencing what fade magic feels like?  That inviting bubble that felt as welcoming as a bear hug was what the whole world felt like before Solas created the veil?

Solas... The lying asshole with the power to soak panties from a fictional fade kiss across a screen... He did  **this**??

 _The bastard_.

_The beautiful beautiful bastard._

The awful sound, like the dying squeals of a dozen pigs, as the soldiers efficiently dispatch the remaining bad guys, interrupts my thoughts and snaps me out of my trance. Now I'm unreasonably hopping mad.

“What did you **do**?” I round on Solas with venom in my voice. 

"I did nothing," His voice deep and smooth with that lyrical cadence that I remember so well.

I raise my head high, righteous in my fit of temper, jutting out my chin in defiance, mouth already opening in a poorly thought out retort. I have no idea what I'm going to say but whatever it is, he deserves it!

Our eyes meet and I forget everything.

 _Literally everything_.

His ice cold eyes focus on me. Blue upon blue. Oceans and storms to rival Poseidon himself, taking me apart and putting me back together again. Reading me, as if I'm just an open book that only takes a quick skimming to learn all my secrets. 

_Mmmmmmm. Skim away Solas, skim away..._

I notice our proximity then, how carelessly I invaded his personal space. We're close enough to kiss if he leans down just a bit...

His eyes widen fractionally for a heartbeat before narrowing, brows coming together in a puzzled frown. His gaze dropping to my lips before roving quickly from the bandages, to my torn shirt, all the way up to my hairline, missing nothing.

_I'm drowning. I can't even bring myself to struggle._

After checking me out thoroughly, he steps back and crosses his arms. His face is flat and expressionless, all earlier traces have been smoothed away.

_A very convincing neutral._

It all took less than a few seconds.

 

**_Scary scary bastard._**

 

While I was fawning stupidly over his stunning eyes, he was studying me with the same impartiality that Leliana did earlier, like I'm a just an unknown specimen under a microscope.

_Well, that's an iron skillet over the head reality check._

I drop my eyes immediately, pretending that the mark on my hand is the most fascinating thing in the universe.

"The credit is yours." He remarks quietly. There's something about the way he says it that makes my heart thump.

The silence stretches until it gets awkward. My mind is a tangled, jumbled mess. I'm pissed and embarrassed, and I know that I'm supposed to say something, some simple canon dialogue, but my tongue is a useless paralyzed slug.

I just nod instead, distracting myself by counting every cut, scrape, and wrinkle on each knuckle until I run out of fingers.

_Maybe I could just ignore him?_

I start counting on the other hand, weirdly glad that this one has more damage.

A throat clears and I flinch.

"Whatever magic opened the Breach in the sky also placed that mark upon your hand," he continues.

His words ring a familiar bell and it's easier to remember bits and pieces that might potentially be helpful when I'm not looking at his face. His perfectly arranged face with it's...

 _Stop_.

"I theorized the mark might be able to close the rifts that have opened in the Breach's wake, and it seems I was correct." He sounds mildly pleased with himself.

_Ha! Pride having pride! Who would have thought?_

"Meaning it could also seal the Breach itself," a feminine voice interjects, the heavily accented words making it easy to identify Cassandra even without looking.

"Possibly." He replies dispassionately. 

"It seems you hold the key to our salvation." He adds, his tone softening. 

My damn eyes betray me again.

But I'm disappointed, his face is still blank, belying the warmth of his statement. His broad shoulders are hunched under his threadbare cloak, giving the appearance of frailty. He even twists his fingers together nervously in a near-perfect imitation of a simple humble apostate.

_All lies. There's nothing simple about him._

Unaware of my observation, he tugs slightly on the cuffs of his sleeves with long elegant fingers, straightening a winkle I didn't notice. Even in his hobo costume, he looks perfectly composed like he could sit for a portrait right this second.

_Whereas I'd bet a thousand dollars that I look like I just got face-fucked by snow plow._

I snort a laugh.

_Oh that was super feminine._

His head snaps up at the sound, his eyes jumping to mine instantly as if he'd known exactly where I was and what I was doing, all along.

Real smart, genius! Now the highly intelligent and apparently observant guy who could kill me with laughable ease, thinks I'm snickering at him. 

_Maybe he'd even laugh during the process of killing me with ease._

Blue eyes narrow slightly and a muscle jumps in his jaw like he's refusing his body the opportunity to ask. Instead he stands up a little straighter and raises an eyebrow in a silent question.

_How did this man fool everyone, including me, for so long?_

My mouth is dry, my tongue stuck to the roof of it like fly paper. I realize that having the undivided attention of a million year old god-being in what has evolved into unintentional staring contest is **intimidating as fuck.**

_The butterflies are back, chipping away at my stomach lining._

My cheeks heat up and I squirm in discomfort.

"Good to know. Here I thought we'd be ass deep in demons forever," the loud voice full of humor is so welcome I partially lose my balance in my rush to turn and greet him.

My hair flops down in my eyes **again**. Impatiently, I try to rake it back with my free hand, but my fingers just get caught in the snarls. 

_THAT'S IT!!!  I'VE HAD IT!!_

I gather random clumps together and saw at them with Cassandra's knife. Having long attractive hair in Thedas is about as useful as wearing a pair of Spanx during a colon cleanse. 

_At least I'll look as good as I feel..._

 

_Like total ass._

 


	10. Rising Action

 

_Ahhhhhhhhhhh._

 

My first beaming smile of the day breaks across my face, so wide that dried bits of unknown nastiness crack and flake off my cheeks. I roll my neck in slow motion, running a hand through my newly shorn hair in bliss, imagining myself in a shampoo commercial for a moment. 

_I definitely should have done that sooner! Goodbye floppy hair! Short hair was the way to go all along, my head feels so light!_

It takes a few tries to secure my borrowed knife under my belt without knicking anything. Requiring more attempts than I'd care to admit, but it's worth it to finally have both hands unencumbered. It's only when I finish, that I notice the creepy quiet. 

_Weird..._

Still smiling, like it's my birthday and someone surprised me a stripper dressed in BDU's, I glance up. 

_What are they all staring at?_

The trio of weirdos look at me in absolute silence, eyebrows raised to their hairlines. Acting as if I'd just randomly shucked my pants and did the helicopter, instead of giving myself a impromptu haircut. 

_Okay. Maybe it wasn't the most opportune timing, but really when would be? All I've done since arriving is barely escape one deadly encounter after another._

“Well, aren't you a cheerful one? You must be the strange prisoner that everyone keeps talking about... I'm Varric Tethras by the way.” The familiar dwarf is the first one gain control of his vocal cords and speak. He grins me, his eyes dancing in merriment.

_Oh thank God! A friendly face!!_

My good humor had fizzled in embarrassment, but his introduction renews it with enthusiasm, my smile turning a bit wolfish as I check out my new buddy. At least, I sincerely hope we can be buddies! Especially since I usually spend a lot of time with him in my party. 

_And he **is** rather handsome for an unattainable guy with sebaceous glands that produce charisma instead of oil..._

I fall instantly in love with his gravely voice. When paired with his sarcastic sense of humor and quick wit, is easy to see why he's always been one of my very favorite characters.

_This is so exciting!!_

"Your chest hair is FABULOUS!" I blurt out the first thing that pops into my head. Even though I'm not usually a big fan of body hair, I am a big fan of him in general. Plus, those luxurious golden tufts on display caught my attention right away.  

"Ah... uh... yes it is, isn't it?" He answers hesitantly, his eyebrows climbing back to his hairline in surprise.

_Uhhh. I really shouldn't have lead with that..._

“I mean there's just so much! Doesn't it get tangled?” I plunge forward anyway, taking fast, the rambling words tumbling out like a useless stream of verbal diarrhea.

_For the love of... What is wrong with me?_

I rack my brain for another topic of conversation. 

There's a disgusted sound behind me from Solas' general direction. “Is that a serious question?” The words are clipped at the end in impatience. 

_Dude, I really have no idea._

My lips twitch at the disbelief in his tone, but I ignore him. I continue to keep my focus solely on Varric. I've decided that the less I engage with Solas, the better; Since I can't even trust myself to look at him yet without getting caught like a deer in headlights. 

_Let's move right on past random observations on hair and maybe compliment his crossbow or something..._

“Your crossbow is really... it's really... um… big.” I wince as soon as the words pass my lips, but I try to keep my tone light and the smile plastered on my face.

_What the?? Not any better!_

“Now don't go hurting Bianca's feelings." He pats the heavy crossbow consolingly and I swear I hear amusement in his voice. “It's impolite to discuss a lady's weight.”

I can't stop the relieved bark of laughter at his answer, eternally grateful that he's rolling with my socially awkward behavior. It's harsh and a little creaky from lack of use.

_Guffaws haven't really had much of a place here._

"And she'll be great company in the valley," Varric adds cheerfully hefting the stock onto his bulky shoulder, nodding at it (her?) fondly. 

“Absolutely not.” Cassandra says firmly, stepping forward into the conversation. Varric shifts his considerable charm over to her frowning face, turning on the puppy dog eyes and everything. 

"Oh come on, have you been in the valley lately, Seeker? Your soldiers aren’t in control anymore. You **need** me,” he continues beseechingly.

_That's my cue..._

I slowly back away, focusing carefully on softening the sound of crunching snow beneath my feet. I'm not needed for this exchange and I really REALLY don't want to somehow fuck up Varric coming with us. 

_Not a stellar track record of not fucking up, so far._

I make it about fifteen feet when my back bumps into something firm and warm.

_Shit! Seriously? When will I learn to look behind me first?_

I stop so abruptly that I lose my footing and pitch forward, saved from another face full of snow by a hand on my shoulder.

_There's a hole in the shoulder of my shirt._

A hole that I hadn't noticed amidst the rest of my damaged clothing, until his palm accidentally touches my bare skin. All my muscles tense up, like I'm planning to make a swan dive into the deep end of a pool. Everything's frozen. Everything, except my blood, which is racing to where we're inadvertently touching.

Well, racing there and lower... The tight leather of my pants gets a little tighter...

 

_Oh no. Oh no._

 

**_No. No. No. No. NO!_**

 

I swallow hard, stiff as a board, watching the disgruntled woman and tenacious dwarf bicker back and forth as if I'm watching a ping pong match. 

_This is a new level of awkward._

I keep forgetting that this new body, my new body, is male. Apparently and unfortunately very male at the moment. 

 

_Ugghh!_

 

**_99 bottles of beer on the wall... 99 bottles of beer..._ **

 

"My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions.” The words are an octave lower than his normal speaking voice and so close that his breath tickles my ear, rustling a few stands of my hair.  

 

**_Cold showers. Football players wearing clown noses. How much wood could a woodchuck cut, if a woodchuck could cut wood._ **

 

His hand tightens fractionally on my shoulder and my pants tighten even more, a shiver of arousal racing up my spine. 

 

**_Roadkill sandwich. The horrible smell of skunk. Anal bleaching. Disgusting people who spit out their chewing tobacco into clear Dr. Pepper bottles._ **

 

Ewwww... Better... A little bit...

 

He inhales sharply, his hand suddenly falling away and I feel, rather than see, him move. One blink and he's standing right there with his head tilted, looking at me. His face schooled into a pleasant but neutral mask, all except for the pleased little side-smirk at the corner of his mouth. 

But his eyes... they tell a different story that speaks volumes... hard and unyielding, like the ice he relentlessly flings about the battlefield.

_What is this? What is he doing? I don't understand._

I clasp my hands together quickly, blocking the view of my crotch. His gaze follows my movements and heat floods face, my ears, even my damn scalp feels like it's on fire.

_Is what it feels like to have a hot flash?_

I'd fan myself, but my hands are busy shielding the cock of betrayal. I struggle like crazy to copy his neutrality and emulate his calm.

_Calm as a cucumber... Be one with the cucumber..._

He waits patiently for me to speak, fingers idly tracing the intricate engraving on his staff. 

_Just say 'hello' for Christ's sake!_

“I… er…”

I swallow again, in panic. Sucking in a breath, I mentally count to four and then force something out. I pray it makes sense.

“Heljjkfymif.”

I blanch, wanting to hide myself from those penetrating blue eyes. How I wish I could reload my last save! 

_Nope, not words._

Every inch of my skin is flaming so hot there should be steam rising in the chill mountain air, like a lobster in a pot of boiling water.

Boiled lobster is a lovely shade of red.

The corner of his mouth quirks up higher, his mask slipping as he holds back laughter.

“Your name would be a good place to begin,” he prompts, his eyes crinkling at the sides.

_Oh. Oh my... He looks completely different when he smiles... **Much** less like he's taking my measurements so that he knows how big to dig the grave. _

My tongue and my brain are not working. It seems as though they've had a retirement party without inviting me. I can’t even remember my own damn name.

_Think._

_It's simple. I should remember this._

_If only I could just grab my head and shake something loose…_

“… Lucy!!” I'm so stinking pleased an actual random intelligible name came out that it takes a moment before I register Solas' half-smile disappear. His eyebrows start to furrow and I bite my tongue in frustration.

_That's too obviously girly of a name, dumbass! Butch it up! Think badass, hardcore man name. Hurry!_

“I mean Lucifer!” My voice is too loud and too high, looking away, I swallow again and clear my throat. “It's... uh… short for Lucifer.”

_Wow, just wow... Really? Satan? **That's** who I came up with? Hopefully, there's no fallen angel here on Thedas because that'd be... really bad._

 “Very well then, I'm pleased to see that you still live... Lucifer." He says smoothly.

I look back at him, but catch myself before meeting his eyes, stopping about chest high and watching the wolf's jaw dangle from a cord around his neck instead. I try for a small smile, hoping that it looks like an actual smile and not like a grimace.

"He means 'I kept that mark from killing you while you slept'," Varric chimes in coming up beside me. 

_Bless him and his impeccable timing._

My laugh of relief sounds strained, even to me.

Glancing over at me concerned, Varric lightly nudges my arm and asks gently, “Are you doing okay?”

I nod and nudge him back with my elbow, trying to drum up my earlier good mood.

“Thank you for that,” I mumble before I forget, directing it back at Solas' chest.

“Thank me if we manage to close the Breach without killing you in the process,” he retorts shortly and turns away, dismissing me.

 

 _I didn't realize one sentence could sound so disapproving_...

 

_What did I do now?_

 


	11. The Elf With The Shelf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am tickled neon magenta at every comment and kudos notification, and just so darn stinking grateful from the bottom of my heart that my humor is actually humorous!! (Hugs all around) Y'all are BEAUTIFUL <3

 

_What is his deal?_

I stare in confusion at the back of an obnoxiously shiny head. That asshole has more 'deals' than a freaking used car salesman!

“Cassandra, you should know, the magic involved here is unlike any I have ever seen. Your prisoner is a mage, but I find it difficult to imagine any mage, let alone this one, having such power.” Solas states matter-of-factly directly at the warrior, talking about me as if I'm not standing right here. 

And now I'm irritated. 

_Sweet Baby Ray, the man is hot and cold._

Look. I know that he's not into anyone other than beautiful elven females, but I just don't get it. One minute he's smugly giving me an ear-gasm and the next he's as frosty as a blizzard in the Antarctic.

Besides... His unexplained behavior aside, this whole goddamn mess is literally ALL HIS FUCKING FAULT!

“ **Et tu, Brute**? You sure seem to know an awful lot about it.” I speak without thinking, bitterness making each word sting.

He turns around inhumanly fast. 

“ **I am unfamiliar with your question.** ” His voice cracks like a whip and I choke on my spit.

_Someone forget that the scary bastard is scary?_

Everyone waits for an embarrassing long time while I double over coughing and sputtering, hands braced on my knees. Taking in deep gasping breaths of annoyingly frigid air, I eventually sufficiently catch my breath. When I finally look up I catch Cassandra in the middle of an eye roll. 

"Feel free to enlighten me." He says the words calmly. That scathing whip of a tongue he has, returning to coil firmly behind his teeth. 

"I'd rather not," I respond just as calmly. 

_Yeah, not happening. How would I explain Latin and Shakespeare? They don't exist here. Plus, quoting a line from a play to signify the unexpected betrayal by a friend was a stupidly impulsive thing to do._

"I insist," he snaps irritably, like a grumpy old man denied his tapioca. He steps closer, using his height to tower over me, trying to intimidate me into acquiescence. 

"Get used to disappointment," I snap right back tilting my chin up and locking eyes with him defiantly. 

_Anger sure is a great motivator._

Poking this man's temper is a sight to behold. Restrained violence is simmering behind his eyes and in the etched line of the jaw that's clenched tight enough, the muscles stand out in stark relief.

If he could get away with smacking or strangling me without some serious shit happening, I'd be in deep trouble. For the first time EVER, I'm glad for his restraint, and I'm equally glad that we have chaperones. 

_He doesn't like sass much, does he? Interesting..._

Anyone with a kink like mine for a dominant Solas, would spend their life-savings in a heartbeat to be in my shoes right now. Even my big ass man boots.

_And this isn't even really mad, more mildly irritated and inconvenienced than anything else. Really mad involves burning the guilty party alive with just a sweep of his hand and some seriously impressive magical flames._

Solas takes a breath and lightly pinches the bridge of his nose. Relenting, he steps back until the three weirdos and I are forming a loose circle. Shifting minutely, fraction by subtle fraction, until he looks like the innocent apostate he pretends to be. 

_And they didn't see any of that since he was facing only me!_

“As to the other, ” he says, back once again fully into the skin of the hobo-self. He continues to lecture his captive audience. “My travels have allowed me to learn much of the Fade, far beyond the experience of any Circle mage. I came to offer whatever help I can give with the Breach. If it is not closed, we are all doomed regardless of origin.”

_He doesn't suspect anything, does he?_

“And if we're successful? What will **you** do afterwards?” My voice is still accusatory. I'm not ready to relinquish all my anger just yet.

So far my temper is the only thing that works marginally well to combat my inconvenient lust. I'm going to need find some different tools other than aggressive bitchiness and learn some fucking self-control if I'm going to be spending so much time with him. 

_Someone still has to teach me magic if I want to stay alive, and Solas is by far the most qualified._

“One hopes that those in power will remember who helped, and who did not.” He responds carefully.

“Yes, I sincerely hope that too.” I say quietly, mostly to myself, thinking with sadness about what happens after the next couple of years.

“ **Enough talking**! We must get to the forward camp quickly.” Cassandra glares only at me like it's all my fault. Then she takes her sweet ass time looking around and weighing her options before nodding her head to the right.

_Which she could have done before barking at me._

“This way, down the bank. Now, go!” It's an order, not a request.

I grit my teeth to stifle an automatic smartass remark. I am no longer made of bones and flesh, instead, the entirety of my being consists of raised hackles and ruffled feathers.

I  **really**  dislike being told what to do. 

It must be visibly obvious, because Varric winks, handing me my staff, and says in a loud voice. “Well, Bianca’s excited!”

_Wait. What the hell? When did he have time to find Woody? And where?_

Solas glances between Varric and I impassively, but then his gaze settles on me and narrows. With his mouth set in a grim line he gestures to me with casual grace, the universal 'after you' bow.

“We must move quickly,” he says firmly, his words just as much an order as Cassandra's, but they have a dramatically different effect.

_Damn it!_

My heart is overworking itself again and I take off in the direction the Cassandra indicated. Like a horse with blinders on, I start climbing down through the rubble, absolutely refusing to acknowledge the current fit of my pants until my overactive imagination settles down.

My only occasionally pleasant trio of adventurers and I continue onward. I fall into step beside Varric because he's the nicest of the three, as we form a loose line with Cassandra in front and Solas taking up the rear. 

We tromp through the hard packed snow that passes for a path. We actually seem to be making good time now that we're not stopping to have dick measuring contests. 

I sigh regretfully. 

 

**_If only...._ **

_Nope. Stop it. Right now._

 

Varric is the first of us to pause to loot a body. I haven't done any of that so far. It hadn't felt right. I mean, in the game, I looted and stole everything that wasn't nailed down but it feels different on actual dead people.

It's sad. 

The rogue motions me forward with one hand, to help him search the poor dead icicle. It doesn't really look like he needs the help, but I shrug and crouch down next to him anyway. 

With my fingertips like fleshy tweezers, I find a few coppers and silvers tucked away in his pockets. I'm trying my best to find a place to put them when Varric motions me even closer. 

_Why don't **my** leather pants have pockets? _

Exasperated, I drop the coins into the top of my right boot and obligingly lean forward over the body even more. 

 

_Note to self:_

  * _One:_ _Frozen corpses still smell gross no matter what folks say._
  * _Two:  Buy what passes for a fanny pack as soon as possible. Storing coins in your footwear sucks. It feels a lot like voluntarily stepping on Legos and I'm not a masochist._



 

"So how do you know Chuckles?" Varric whispers to me quietly, slowing down his searching. 

_Ahhhhhh. That's what this is about. I forget sometimes that underneath his friendly charm is an observant and calculating mind._

"What do you mean? I only met him today when he was with you," I say with as much sincerity as I can muster. 

"Hmmmm. If you say so..." He looks at me doubtfully for a moment. It's the first time I've seen that analyzing look on his face. "It's just... The way you two were going at it back there..."

 

**_If only..._ **

 

_Oh for the love of... Stop it already!_

 

"I don't know what you're... AAAAHHHOOOUUCCHH!'

If it's possible to be grateful for the searing pain when my mark flares, I am. Whatever it takes to redirect that particular conversation elsewhere. 

I almost fall head-first directly on the dead guy though, which skeeves me out to no end. I manage instead, to roll a little off to the side as I curl into a fetal position, clutching my hand to my chest. 

Varric moves to my side quicker than I thought a guy of his stature could. “Shit, are you alright?” 

I breathe sharply in and out through my nose, grunting in discomfort. 

"Just peachy," I grit out through my teeth as the mark quiets and the pain recedes. 

_When did my life evolve to spooning with corpses?_

It's Cassandra to my surprise the helps me upright again. I clasp her hand gratefully, giving it a squeeze. 

"Thanks for not throwing me on your back like a sack of floor and just carrying me," I say with a grin and I think I catch a glimpse of a small answering smile. I can't be certain because she adverts her head. 

“I know it’s difficult, but we must keep moving. Just hold on a little longer," she says before striding on past me. 

I'm a little shell-shocked by her sudden encouragement, but I'm knocked out of my daze when Solas hands me Woody, for once without any comment. 

 

_Another Note:_

  * _Find a way to secure my staff so that I stop dropping it!  My companions are not dogs playing fetch, eventually they will get tired of retrieving it for me._



 

We trudge on and on, until we get to a frozen riverbed. After watching the four demons milling aimlessly below for a few minutes, they take a consensus and decide to skirt around the fight rather than attacking.

_They didn't even ask my opinion. Maybe they're catching on to my ineptitude?_

I try my best to keep up with everyone, but I fall behind when we pass the burning cottage.

 _Literally_.

I trip on a damn stair when a certain elf mage sneaks up and falls into step beside me. Thankfully I catch myself without any appendage-raising assistance or further damage to my body.

This time.

"You are Dalish, and clearly away from your clan. Did they send you here?" Solas questions, his musical voice breaking the silence. I find it less soothing and more cymbal crashing in its abruptness.

 

_What the…? I'm a…?_

 

My eyes widen in disbelief, my hands already reaching up to tentatively touch my ears, my fingertips lightly running from the lobes to the tips. 

_Holy mother of Cheetos, they have points!_

 

_**No**._

 

_This is just too much!_

_You mean I could have been an **elf** chick this whole time??? I could have changed things. I could have romanced the hell out of Solas until he'd rather die than give me up. We could have fucked like bunnies... We could've indulged in sex involving his badass magic...and ridden into the sunset together... and..._

 

**_I end up an elf man with an erection problem._ **

 

_I'm not doing this shit anymore._

_I'm done._

"I have wandered many roads in my time and crossed paths with your people--" He starts to add, but I'm pushing past him and charging up the stairs.

I pass Cassandra.

"Wait!" She calls out, reaching for me but I dodge aside rapidly increasing my pace until I'm running.

I don't know where I am and I don't know where I'm going, I just know that I can't be here doing this anymore.

_FYI, snow is not sprinting friendly._

I fall enough times that my pride refuses to allow a tally. Finally, not too far up ahead is something that looks like a gate and I make a beeline for it.

"FREEEEEEEDOMMMMM!" I can't resist yelling it, arms thrown wide with my staff in one hand, Moses-style, not caring how silly I look. I'm so happy that I want to hug someone, but not enough to regret leaving those judgemental sourpusses behind.

 

_Yep... Things never seem to work out in my favor..._

 

I'm staring up at a whole lot of wood with trepidation, gnawing on my lower lip until it stings.

 

_It's not even the **good** kind of wood..._

 

A barrier I'd forgotten and a man I'd love to forget.

Solas is casually leaning against some sort of partially collapsed blockade? Whatever it was once used for, it's currently obstructing my path. And it's much bigger than I remember from the game. 

I see no signs of Cassandra or Varric. 

"The others have gone ahead. I told them I would wait for you," He says, reading my thoughts. 

_How on earth did they get here first?_

"So sorry to hold things up," I say sarcastically crossing my arms in a huff. 

_Damn it! I can even run away without screwing myself in the process._

"There is no need to apologize. You have been though much in a short span of time," he says with unanticipated concern.

I deflate like a child learning Santa isn't real.

_FINE._

I turn back to look at the blockade-ish obstacle. Yes, it's just as imposing as the last time I checked. Shrinking wood only happens when enough alcohol is involved, that's why it's called whiskey dick. 

_Ba-dum-tssshh._

Okay, enough delaying! I have to get moving or he'll try to talk to me some more.

_But how am I even supposed to--_

I gawk in disbelieving awe with my jaw unhinged as Solas vaults over effortlessly.

 

_Like **that** apparently._

 

He lands on the other side with just as much grace, lightly enough on the balls of his feet that it doesn't even stir the snow.

_Show off. I'm surrounded by show offs._

_How did Varric get over?  Watching him would have been more educational than Mr. Acrobat._

_But much less invigorating..._

I expect him to keep going on path like the other two must have, but he turns to wait on me. How polite. 

_It's just like pole vaulting. Except I've never pole vaulted in my life. It's not that hard right?_

_Oh hell… This is going to end badly._

I back up twenty very large steps and take off at a sprint, bracing with my staff to make the jump. It works just like I planned, my legs leaving the ground smoothly. 

I've done it! I'm flying through the air!

For a split-second it's exhilarating, until I misjudge the size of my big ass feet and the toe of my boot catches on the top rung.

“SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT!” I cry out in helpless terror. 

 

**CRACK**

 


	12. Magic (the Gathering) Fingers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love you all! Enjoy the chapter <3

 

Yes, that's exactly what it sounds like when you face-plant into a rock.

 

_That's just dandy, I bet something's broken._

 

I lift my head and groan at the sharp, immediate pain radiating from my entire face. Slowly and with Herculean effort, I lift myself up on hands and knees, blood splatter painting the snow under me a bright crimson.

_Shouldn't the mage handy with healing spells be rushing to my aid right about now? He was the only one with the front row seat to my epic fail._

_Goddamn it! I swear I WILL get better at this shit!_

_Just as soon as I can get up..._

I rock backwards and land on my ass. Rivets of warmth run down my neck and I carefully touch my throbbing cheek, my fingertips come away stained. I sit there staring blankly at my hand.

 

_Yep, that's blood._

 

I think I'm in shock. I look up, my hand still held aloft like a begger, and see Solas in roughly the same place he was before my tumble.

He's just standing there watching me, both hands tightly gripping his staff, his posture is stiff like a mannequin.

_Like a beautiful elven statue carved in intricate loving detail, except wait... What the fuck Solas?!?_

“ **What the FUCK Solas?!?** ” Or at least that's what I'm trying to shout at him... but as soon as I open my mouth it fills with blood. I spit in disgust, because it tastes like nasty pennies and because I'm pissed off at his weird unhelpfulness.

It continues to refill and I continue to spit repeatedly, like a boat that's sprung a leak and I'm bailing out the water with a shot glass.

 

**This is so gross.**

 

My vision gets blurry around the edges and I finally give up getting the words out, collapsing on my back in submission, or maybe it's just exhaustion.

_Fine, you morbid Big Bad Wolf. Let me bleed to death in the snow before I even get the chance to have a training montage and become a super powerful badass._

_Maybe my blood will even spread out enough to look like a red cape? I can be the first cross-dressing Little Red Riding Hood in Thedas!_

I giggle. It has a little bubble at the end, sort of like a soap bubble with pink tinge.

My collapse seems to prompt a bee to fly up his backside, or it might have been the giggle. Whatever the reason, he's suddenly on his knees at my side. Leaning over, he looks down at me with concern and brief flash of something else, I'm too woozy to tell what.

"Lucy!" Varric's paler than normal face hovers opposite Solas. He looks scared.

_When did Varric get here? Did I pass out?_

"May I heal your injury?" Solas asks permission politely, ignoring Varric's outburst. Already settling in more comfortably and reaching for me without waiting for an answer. 

_Well, you assumed wrong Mister..._

I grab Varric' arm like a lifeline and use it to pull myself to my feet, brushing Solas off in the process.

I shake my head in annoyance and the world wobbles dangerously. I clutch at the dwarf, pawing at his clothes for traction, as I sway unsteadily in place.

 

**_No way you dick._ **

 

Solas' expression shuts down. He slowly gets back to his feet with great care, meticulously pulling at his cuffs and smoothing down his sweater, paying more attention to every single movement than is strictly necessary. 

_How much of this would I notice if my eyes weren't superglued to his every gesture? If I didn't know the magnitude of what he's hiding?_

_Am I being over-sensitive? Varric and Cassandra haven't reacted to his behavior with any suspicion and they're very suspicious folks._

“I must insist.” He speaks slowly, and carefully once he's finished his butler-like grooming. Too bad he doesn't have a lint roller handy... 

_You can insist all you want. You can also go fuck yourself with a jar of testicles while you're at it.._

I make a small motion with my hand.

His brows come down in a darkly disapproving scowl. I'm pretty certain that if I wasn't necessary to the plan/plot and already probably bleeding to death, he'd just leave me here. 

I guess rude gestures are pretty universal.

Fuck it. I lift the tattered hem of what's left of my ratty shirt and press it my face where it hurts the most, thinking I'll be able to talk more clearly if I can stop the tsunami of blood flowing from my face.

“I'm fine,” I say through gritted teeth.

Varric looks at me in stunned disbelief, "Maybe you should listen to Chuckles on this one."

"We can't continue until you let me heal you,," Solas agrees, faintly letting out what sounds like a regretful sigh. 

He turns his torso partly away from me, his face is lost in shadows, the sunlight glinting off his bald head. Pausing, he looks down a moment and his chest moves as he exhales.

Then he turns and looks back directly into my eyes.

“Please, Lucy, let me help you.”

My cheeks heat up the tips of my ears and I take an involuntary wobbly step toward him.

 

 _ **Woah**_.

 

"Please." Solas says again softly and moves closer until he's standing right in front of me.

 

_My god, he's beautiful._

 

He's close, so close. I can see every detail the graphic designers didn't come close to mastering. The deep auburn of his perfectly arched eyebrows... The way his lower lip is slightly larger than the upper, giving his mouth a slight pout... Every shade of blue in creation swirling together in his irises...

_It's too much._

I sway, knees buckling and giving out. He catches me before I can fall, lowering me gently to the ground and resting my head across his crossed legs in one movement.

_How can one person be so graceful? Are all elves like that or just him?_

_Man, I wish it was contagious!_

With the lightest of touches he moves clumps of newly-shortened hair, dreaded and spiked with dried blood and who knows what else, back from my forehead. Our eyes meet and hold. I'm utterly lost in the hypnotizing depths, finding it  impossible to look away even when I catch a glimpse of glowing hands in my peripheral vision.

His magic brushes against my body like the softest fleece blanket I could imagine. The coldness of the snow and the hardness of the ground disappear as I'm wrapped in a cocoon that's snuggly, warm, and comforting. I sigh in surprised contentment, my eyelids getting heavier with every blink.

 _I don't want to close my eyes,_ _I don't want to fall asleep_  
_'Cause I'd miss you baby!_  
_And I don't want to miss a thing..._

I chuckle sleepily. 

"Yep she's loopy alright" Varric's voice is the last thing I remember before lights out.

I drift along on a sea of serenity. No vivid dreams or horrible nightmares, just vast nothingness. For an unknown time, darkness is all I'm aware of.

_Hello darkness, my old friend...I've come to talk with you again..._

Low voices brush against my bubble of bliss.

"Is he...?"

"He will be sore and weak, but with time he should be fine.”

The second voice is deep and soothing like a bedtime lullaby. I automatically turn on my side toward to sound, snuggling deeper into the warmth, snaking my arm up around my Star Wars body pillow.

 

_Damn my pillow's lumpy... That's strange..._

 

I crack open an eyelid groggily.

“Looks like you've finally made a friend!” A gruff but extremely amused voice booms from nearby.

_Huh?_

I blink. The rough weave of an ecru sweater comes slowly into focus. What feels like a firm thigh under my cheek. Suddenly I'm blinking both with rapidly growing alarm.

_There's a crotch in my face._

I'm up and away like a rocket, although I'm sure I look more like an uncoordinated one year old trying to balance on stilts.

 

**Oh fuck me...**

 

Varric snorts loudly and his shoulders start shaking as his snorts give way to chuckles and then on to full belly jiggling laughter.

I blanch. Blushing again, for what feels like the twentieth time today, I slap a hand over my mouth in mortification.

_Oh no!_

_Good gravy, did I say that out loud?_

Unlike me and my flaming face, Solas looks completely unruffled as he stands, shooting the dwarf a look that's cuts off the laughter mid-snort.

“We have delayed for too long, we must move quickly,” he says evenly as he straightens the cuffs of his frumpy costume again.

_Is that a nervous gesture of his?_

When Solas glances my direction I look away faster than a preacher at a peep-show, blinking furiously when I realize I've been staring at him this whole time.

My ears are so hot that they feel sunburned. I truly and fervently hope that the copious amounts of dried blood on my face works like an impromptu camouflage.

_Get a grip. Seriously!_

"I agree. We have lost too much time already. We must hurry." Cassandra nods, not mincing any words, already turning to continue down the steep, narrow path.

I stumble after her, pretty much jogging in an effort to put as much distance as possible between me and the sexy master of fungus.

_I can't believe I woke up with my nose in his crotch! How does that even happen? And why does this ridiculous crap keep happening to me?_

I'm crowding close enough to Cassandra that with just a small hop, I could absolutely get a piggyback ride. I'm momentarily tempted to ask, I'm that freaking tired of walking, but she'd stab me - I know it.

Deciding not to push our tentative new mother/daughter-ish bond too far, I fall back in line beside Varric. We travel in companionable silence a ways before he brings up a new conversation topic. 

“So…  _are_  you innocent?” Varric asks me, smiling magnanimously.

“Of killing a bunch of people? I certainly hope so, but I really don’t remember what happened.” It's all I can think of to say. 

He nudges me gently. “That’ll get you every time. You should have spun a story,” he replies conspiritively. 

“No, that’s what  _you_  would have done. I don't believe that the prisoner was responsible for what happened,” Cassandra cuts in, giving the dwarf a warning look. 

Varric spreads his arms out innocently. “Hey now, I believe him too. I'm just saying what's less likely to result in premature execution.”

Stepping around a fallen branch, he continues. "I've been meaning to tell you... I thought of a great nickname for you."

_Uh oh. I've done exactly **zero** things on the cool meter,  so I doubt that I'm fixing to hear something awesome like Shadow or Death-bringer... Maybe something like Crimson or Scarlet because of my hair?_

_Wait. I don't actually know what hair color I have! How could I cut it and not pay any attention?_ _It was laying right on the snow and everything!_

_It's doubtful that I'd have my natural color here, if my new penis is any indication..._

"... so what do you think?" He finishes with dramatic flare. 

_Uhhhh... What? I was so focused on predicting my nickname and inner dialogue, that I missed what it actually is._

"I think 'Loopy' suites you perfectly." He pauses,  waiting for my reaction. 

Which is me looking at him dumbfoundedly.

"Uhhhh."

_Great job! Very eloquent response!_

"I need to go to the bathroom," I say suddenly as I veer off and head for an outcropping of trees. I don't actually have to potty, but it was the only excuse I could come up with on the fly. 

"Where is he going now?" I hear Cassandra ask when I reach the first tree.

I walk just far enough in to be out of sight. Slumping to the ground, I rest my head on my knees. I know that only have a few minutes at the maximum, but I feel like I need a timeout from the crazy. 

_Ahhhh... Quiet._

It settles around me and I take a minute to just sit and listen to the wind.

A twig snaps and it startles me out of my skin. I jump up so fast that I smack myself with a lower branch and snow falls on my head. I'm so busy shaking my clothes out and cursing under my breath, that I barely notice the glimmer of green just a hairs breadth away from the large trunk.

Then my mark flares fabulous neon and my entire arm is bathed in acid. Clutching my arm ineffectually, I watch with growing nausea as a rift opens right in front of me.

_Not again..._

"IIIIIIIIIIEEEEKKK!" My very manly scream is high-pitched enough to break glass. 

 

_Another Note to Self:_

  * I really need to find somewhere to write these down before I forget. 
  * Don't go piss by yourself during your stay in Evil Land.
  * Don't go  **anywhere** by yourself EVER AGAIN. 



 

I'm frozen in place, eyes round with hopelessness.

_Demons._

_I just can't seem to catch a break, can I?_

A hand shoots out, grabbing and pulling me backwards.

“Glad you brought me now, Seeker?” Varric grits out breathlessly, his voice dripping in sarcasm. He shoves me behind him and cocks his crossbow, taking aim just as the first nightmare creature falls out.

_Oh thank goodness! I thought my death was a sure thing this time!_

Varric grins while taking down several enemies with a brutal efficiency that I admire. While him and the other fighters keep the demon lemmings busy, I back away to relative safely and focus on pushing magic fade sparkles back into the rift like I did before.

It feels similar to stuffing strangely friendly cottonballs into a really weird pillowcase.

"Quickly!" Cassandra barks out from a few feet ahead.

“I'm trying my best, you demanding cu--” I'm gasping in effort at this point. Slow-moving magic swirls don't particularly like being hurried, but I manage it somehow and the rift closes with an audible pop.

We all stand there breathing heavily for a moment. 

Cassandra sheaths her sword and turns her frustrated scowl-mouth my direction. "What were you thinking?!"

"I'm sorry! I was just... I just needed a break," I say meekly in the face of her wrath. 

"You just needed a..." She begins, but Solas comes to my rescue. 

"I dislike interrupting, but it seems that we have reached our destination," he says handing me my staff. 

_Really? Again? I left Woody behind, again? I don't even remember dropping him._

Solas is correct. 

The glorious gates of Heaven await us, close enough to make me giddy in relief. 

“The rift is gone! Open the gate!” Cassandra bellows once we reach them. 

 

Apparently, those are the magic words.


	13. Old Saint Dick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!!! Comments keep the dream alive <3

 

Soldiers, soldiers, and more soldiers. Most are just standing like lumps huddled miserably around campfires, trying to keep warm. And here I am, weaving around them in tattered clothing, not shivering at all. 

 

_Huh._

_Elf trait?_

 

"The cold never bothered me anyway... " I mumble in an irritable sing-song under my breath. 

I inwardly roll my eyes at the random crap that keeps popping up in my mind, while I observe the armored individuals that have decided to do something useful, like cleaning equipment. At least a few have the right idea that being busy equates with warmth.

_And all of them were here instead of out there helping us fight. That's... pretty shitty of them actually._

As thankful as I am to finally be in an enclosure amidst the relative safety of numbers, lots of those numbers are staring at me.

Normally I'm not the self-conscious sort. When you  embrace fluorescent as a perfectly acceptable hair color and have enough tattoos and piercings, you get pretty used to the odd look or two, but today is different. 

Today, I feel utterly disgusting. The metallic stench of sweat and blood wafting from my own body has me briefly contimplating nasal amputation.

 

_Yuck! It smells like an elephant took a massive dump, rolled it in bloody sprinkles, and served it up like a zombie cupcake._

 

I look down at my stained clothes and pray half-heartedly for rain, since I imagine it'll be an eternity before I can scrub all the blood and ooey bits off.

_Yeah, a rainstorm in the middle of Winter Wonderland. What a fantastically awesome idea..._

Arguing draws my attention and I look up from critically analyzing my attire, noticing Leliana and Roderick locked in a heated debate. While he throws accusations at her like snowballs, I see her hand inching closer and closer to the waistband hidden under her cloak.

_Ahhh yes. The Chancellor with hopes of grandeur._

I head that direction with purposeful strides before any stabby stabby happens. I've never been a big fan of his, but I remember enough to know that we need him to survive past Haven.

Once I'm close enough, Leliana's irritation blends into obvious relief. “You made it. Chancellor Roderick, this is–”

Roderick interrupts because he's a douche, waving off my introduction and turning to Cassandra. “I know who he is. As Grand Chancellor of the Chantry, I hereby order you to take this criminal to Val Royeaux to face execution.”

_What an idiot..._

Cassandra's resting bitch face is a sight to behold. “Order **me**? You are a glorified clerk. A bureaucrat!” She sneers the last and it pulls at her scar, showcasing her disgust to maximum capacity.

Not easily cowed, Roderick straightens up to his full rather unimpressive height, puffing out his chest and jabbing a finger her direction, “And you are a thug--”

“Hey now, none of that! Cassandra may be an acquired taste but she's a hardcore badass and we're damn lucky to have her on our side. You, however, are a total dick.” I interrupt because I can, calmly handing her barrowed dagger back, hilt first. 

I don't have the patience to listen to him carry on in blustering ignorance.

_And I might not be in the best of moods. I've had a REALLY long hellish day._

Cassandra looks at me shocked, as if I've just declared my undying love, silently taking her dagger and tucking it back in place. 

Rod-the-dick's frown is spectacularily comical, stuck between a petulant teenager who's stuck somewhere without WiFi and grumpy geezer who just got caught pissing in someone's oatmeal.

I want to laugh because they're both just completely ridiculous, but that'd be terribly inappropriate timing so I just plow right on.

“Let's get one thing crystal clear, I did not do this!” I wave my fungus arm around dramatically. “You'll just have to believe me, but that not important right now. In fact, the only issue we should be focusing on is closing that Breach!”

I hear Solas murmuring his support, but Rod's already shaking his head in disagreement, “I don't **have** to believe **anything** you say!" He looks over at Leliana, "We should be calling a retreat before more lives are lost, our position here is hopeless.”

“Seriously Dick-rod?" I argue, getting up close and personal until I can smell his bologna breath. "Your best council is to run away? That'd be an excellent idea **except** for the ever-growing demon-dumping hole in the sky! I doubt that's gonna get better on its own!”

Cassandra steps between us, looking at Roderick but pressing a careful hand to my chest. “The prisoner is right. We must get to the temple before it's too late. It’s the quickest route.”

“How?” Roderick sputters “You won't survive long enough to reach it, even with all your soldiers.”

“The Chancellor makes a good point. The quickest way isn't always the safest. Our forces can charge as a distraction while we go through the mountains instead.” Leliana chimes in.

_That's the way I've chosen before. I remember ridiculously tall ladders and caves. Caves with GARGANTUAN spiders! No thank you!_

Cassandra looks ready to argue further, but changes her mind and instead turns to me. “How do you think we should proceed?”

Dick-flick might be having a heart attack. “You cannot be asking this **murderer** to make the decision!” His face is turning a purple red and spittle is flying, almost hitting Cassandra and me in the process.

I open my mouth in defense and to possibly start a spittle sprinkler war over her shoulder, but Solas beats me to it. (The defense part, not the spit battle - as if he could ever be that uncouth. Although, pissing him off might just be my new life goal, we'll see...)

“ **He** has the mark,” Solas says, simply but firmly injecting his opinion. I catch myself before I can give him a grateful look, almost having to grab my own chin. 

_Don't look at him. I'm doing so well... No blushing, no stammering nonsense - Just don't._

“And he's the one that we must keep alive.” Cassandra's timely addition helps my traitorous eyeballs with their self-control problem.

“If you're asking me, I think that we need to head straight to the temple,” I say. 

I'd like to brag that I at least hesitated with my answer, but the truth is I didn't. I not sure how I've made it this far, but a longer route with a spider meet and greet would most likely end in my death. 

And I'm absolutely certain that if I died here on Thedas, it would be in a totally embarrassing and disgusting way. 

_If only I had arrived some actual fighting skills, maybe I could have saved those scouts..._

I feel a pang of guilt over those lost lives, but even if I hate it, I've made my decision. Leaving them all to argue further in my absence, I turn on my heel and walk towards the crates I noticed earlier while lamenting my noxious aroma.

I need to search for weapons and something besides a ratty shirt to protect me.

Leaning Woody against a nearby wall, I check out the selection with interest. There's not much variety in the weapons department. We have small swords, medium swords, and large swords to choose from. 

That's it.

 

_I'm having a very Goldilocks moment right now._

 

I guess I should be thankful since I'm just standing here with an imaginary thumb up my ass, looking confused.

 

_Not much different than when I ordered Starbucks for the first time._

 

I don't even think I could lift a daddy bear. Should I go with baby bear then? Or maybe I should take a mama bear and a baby bear just to be safe?

“Looking for something?” Comes a voice out of nowhere. 

“Aaaeeeii!” My baby mama duo go flying and I do some sort of jumping and twisting motion, my heart lurching painfully up my esophagus.

Solas is half-smiling and leaning casually on his staff.

 

_He has casual down to a science, the damn sexy smirker… I think the crazy bastard enjoys scaring me._

 

“Holy shit, Solas! Don't you ever make any noise?” I clutch my hand to my chest trying to slow my racing heart.

He looks at me blankly, raising an eyebrow. “On occasion. Would you like me to?”

 

**_What???_ **

_Why does that sound so dirty?_

_I didn't mean... I mean OF COURSE I DO, but that's not what I…_

 

My brain is off and twirling gleefully in circles around the many noises that voice could make and the various scenarios that would call for such sounds.  My body goes high grade fever hot all at once, and my still-racing heart strikes up a new tempo. 

 

_Stop that, silly silly girl! That flirty innuendo is just in my desperate imagination, and I know it!_

 

I'm not a teenager and should be able to handle speaking to a man better than this. 

And last time I checked, Solas isn't gay.

 

_A+B= Stop being stupid!!_

 

“Yurk.”

_Yep, good start - that's super suave... Try English._

I see a flash of teeth and a hint of eye crinkle before he seems to take pity on me and takes a step, straightening up and holding out what looks like a very long leather gag. 

“I believe I have found a solution to your problem,” he says formally without any touch of mirth.

 

_Uhhhh..._

He slides his staff behind him, locking it in place with one hand, and walks my direction. His fingers busy lacing what looks like random intricate knots in the strap. 

 

_Ummmm..._

 

He's not even looking down at what he's doing, just continuing to walk that slinky cat-like walk of his. 

 

 _Well, that's just..._

 

Finishing up whatever lacing design he's going for, he holds out his interpretation of artistic restraint. 

 

_Really, Solas?_

 

Shibari with leather has never really been my thing, I've never been terribly keen on putting myself in someone's mercy like that. Although, my reaction to having an ancient elf god on the other end is... surprising. 

I shake my head, both at myself and at him, backing away and holding my hands up like he's wielding a gun instead. "No thanks. I'm... uh...fine. That's really... unnecessary."

 

_Don't run, don't run._

 

His head tilts quizzically to the side. "I have noticed that you frequently leave your staff behind, when it would be of more use to you close at hand. I thought that this might help."

Damn and blast, he's being considerate and I feel like the biggest fool on the planet. Wasn't I just reminding myself about his lack of interest? 

“Oh. You made a holder for Woody. That's… great.” It comes out flat and I feel bad about that. I try and pull my lips into a smile to compensate for my lack of enthusiasm. 

 

_I'm relieved that he's not planning something weird. Definitely relieved... Right?_

 

“You have named your staff… Woody?” He asks with amazed disbelief, as it's the strangest thing he's ever heard come out of my mouth. 

I look over at Woody still leaning innocently against the wall nearby, with a growing fondness. Maybe with the right training, he'll be more than just a pretty stick after all.  

"I think it suits him," I say with a small amount of pride. 

"You continue to confound me. Now, turn around," Solas says shaking his head, his occasionally entitled bossiness creeping back into his tone. 

Swallowing hard against my sudden nervousness, I turn away and stare into the flames of one of the fires. He slides the loops he created from the strap knotwork, slowly up my arms and to my shoulders.

 

_Don't overreact. Don't react at all._

 

I tell myself over and over, on repeat until it has the rhythm of a catchy pop song. I lock my knees and stand as still as I can.

I might be sweating bullets and starting to feel faint.

 

_Don't overreact. Don't react at all._

 

"There. That will be sufficient until we can find you something more permanent," he says quietly, interrupting my mantra as he tightens the last strap carefully and slides Woody through the makeshift harness. 

 

_See. He's completely unaffected. Give it up, already!_

 

I'm opening my mouth to respond when a heavily accented voice cuts in.

Cassandra bellows loud enough for the whole of Thedas to hear, “Leliana. Bring everyone left in the valley. Everyone.”

 

_Wait! I didn't pick out any armor!_

 


	14. Wishing Upon a Star - For Duct Tape

 

More walking.

 

More stairs. 

 

One landscape blends into another, shades of dull grey and stark white. The scenery is mind-numbingly repetitive. 

My thighs are burning in protest and my feet are blisteringly cranky ouchie-beasts, with every new step. I made the whole group stop for a minute to switch those coins to my other boot, almost throwing them on the ground instead, to save myself further torture. 

 

_I'm starting to see why everyone here is so damn fit..._

 

I have to wonder if anyone else fucking tired of all this snow?It's really strange to think that I actually used to wish for it every winter, scrolling through the Weather Channel app on my phone with hopeful anticipation.

That feels years ago now...

 

_Have I really only been here for ONE day?_

 

At the rate that I'm going, I won't need to guess about the color of my hair. After surviving a full week of CRAZY TOWN shit, I'll either be solid grey or completely bald from the constant stress. 

 

_Maybe I'll start the first therapy group in Thedas... I can't be the **only** one having trouble dealing with this! _

 

I have to admit that I am feeling marginally better, even a little braver now that I have Woody strapped to my back, samurai sword style, and my Mama/Baby Bear duo in scabbards belted to my waist.

I may not have had the time for armor, but there's a certain security in the clinking and clanging as I limp along, maintaining my position at the rear of the group.

And at least we have some soldiers with us this time, if we run into trouble. The Trio of Odd is nice to have at my back, they're very impressive, but there's a limit to what even they can overcome. 

“Be wary – another Fade rift,” Solas calls out from his position up ahead.

 

_Seriously?!? I just finish a thought and something dramatically drastic happens, like I jinxed us by thinking?_

_Is what I'm calling Fate actually real? A sadistic sentient being, chortling gleefully as they direct these scenarios and **my life** for their own entertainment? _

_Why??_

 

I don't have time to debate the whimsy of the Maker/Fate/God or whatever might or might not be behind all this, because at Solas' warning everyone springs into action. The soldiers split into two groups, one group advancing forward and the other forming a loose circle around me. 

 

_Well, it looks like someone gave the order that I'm to be looked after and protected._

_Awwwwwee._

_Who was it? Cassandra? Solas?_

 

In no time at all, my newly elected guards and I are left behind. All too soon I hear the clash of swords and boom of explosions up ahead, punctuated every so often by different octaves of screams. It's a symphony of death and pain, and we're headed straight for it.

 

_Oh geez..._

 

My security detail looks around wearily, glancing over to me every so often, their swords out and ready. I have a moment of selfish hope that if I drag my feet enough, the fighting will be done by the time we finally get there? 

Slow and steady wins the race right?

 

_Bah… that's cowardly nonsense. I know darn well that they'll need me to end this. Without the mark to close rift the demons will overwhelm them and I REALLY don't want that many deaths on my conscience._

 

That thought puts some speed in my step and pretty soon I'm hurrying, shoving all my doubts as far back in my mind as I can.

By the time we reach them it's as bad as I feared, every single soldier still standing is engaged in a battle for their life with at least one or two sludges.

 

_There's too many already and more keep dropping from that rift! I need to help them!_

 

I survey the scene before me as quick as I can, deciding that Varric is my best bet, he's set up for ranged advantage slightly apart from all the close combat. As I head his direction, my security team peels off one by one, rushing in to help their fellow soldiers. 

 

_I guess they feel that I'm safe enough, now that I have a new babysitter..._

 

“Just how many rifts are there?” Varric says grimly when I join him, reloading and releasing bolts the size of my arm with practiced ease.

“Too damn many.” I respond just as grimly, looking out at the swirling mass of green and swallowing hard. It may be just my imagination but I swear that it seems larger and more chaotic. 

 

_Don't get intimidated. It's just another asshole to wipe._

 

“Watch my back, I've got this!” I say with much more confidence then I feel. I breathe out in a rush and focus my full attention on my task.

 

_This is what I'm here for. I've done it before, I can do it again..._

 

Unfortunately, it's different than the other times, being farther away makes the magic air less... personal.

It also makes it more difficult, like calling to an exuberant puppy that's otherwise distracted by a frog. I try to corral the sparkle balls gently like I did before, but they keep eluding my grasp.

 

_Come on!_

 

Frustrated by the mindless sparkles and my own ineptitude, I block out all the distractions around me and move closer.

 

_Come on you little bastards! Everyone's counting on me!_

I don't realize how far I've traveled from safety until I hear Varric's panicked shout.

“Loopy!!!   **NO**!!  Behind you!”

I turn in confusion, just as a spindly arm rakes sharp claws, like craving knives, from my hairline to my jaw. Pain blossoms like an atom bomb and I scream in agony, falling backwards.

 

_Why is it always my face?_

 

A new kind of horror stalks me with single-minded purpose. Twice my height and emaciated like an anorexic evil Groot, it towers over me, huge maw gaping in anticipation.

I scramble away crab-like, legs getting tangled in my scabbards.

 

_My sword!_

 

Using my panicked momentum I throw myself to my feet, fumbling blindly to draw my weapon. Everything is blurry, I can't see, and I can't tell if it's all the blood or if my eye is damaged. Grasping a hilt, I pull hard and stumble, dropping back down on one knee.

Desperately, I wipe at my face, ignoring the sting of a thousand wasps as my sleeve drags against battered skin.

 

**THUNK.**

 

A familiar bolt suddenly pierces the creature from behind and I sag, in thankful relief, closing my eyes and waiting for Play-doh particles to rain down on me.

A deep ominous chuckle freezes my blood in it's tracks. My eyes snap open at the sound, and I look up blurily.

 

_Varric's attack should have killed it! How fucking tough is that thing!_

 

The spindly Groot-demon looks down at the projectile stuck halfway through it's torso. With a growl, it wraps long, bony fingers around the front, then simply  _janks_ it out. 

 

_Really REALLY tough, apparently._

 

Mama Bear wavers in my hand when I get splattered with gross blood-goo, but I stiffen my spine.

 

 _Where should I hit it? My sword will just get stuck. If only there'd been an axe,_ _I could've chopped that sucker down like a cherry tree!_

_I have to do something!_

 

Gripping the hilt with all of my might, I make an overheaded swing with both arms as hard as I can. Just as I'm about to connect, Groot's skinny relative is frozen solid, and my attack shatters it to pieces.

 

_Nevermind what I thought earlier, beloved Fate, you're my new best friend! I'm buying you diamonds for that!_

 

All my bravado leaves in a dizzying rush and my knees buckle, gravity yanking it's tether like a choke collar once again.

 

_Exactly how many freaking times will I fall into snow today?_

 

Strong arms catch me and I almost swoon in renewed relief. Blood stains soft ecru as I hide face in his chest, burying myself in the inherent safety of his embrace.

 

It's instant bliss.

 

_Like holding your urine for an hour, on a really long trip, waiting for a clean bathroom. The feeling when I'm finally on the toilet and I can let go of the tension._

_That kind of feeling._

 

_Which is weird AND inappropriate._

 

Just as I'm thinking it, Solas pulls back, untangling himself deftly from my octopus grasp, but he keeps a supporting arm around my waist.

“You must close the rift. Do not worry, I will keep you safe,” He says the words with fierce determination and I realize that folks are still fighting and dying all around us. 

With Solas holding most of my weight effortlessly, I redirect my full focus back to where it needs to be the most.

This time when I mentally begin to collect the errant magic, glittering bubbles float obediently back to the tear and it snaps shut leaving only unblemished normal air behind.

“Sealed, as before. You are becoming quite proficient at this,” his voice whispers in my ear, the lower register making everything instantly clench tight.

His lips are close enough to caress, his teeth close enough to...

 

_Shut it, hormones!_

 

The world is colder and bleaker away from him but my brain functions better. I turn my head a little farther so I can look at him with my good eye.

“I don't know about 'proficient', but I'm doing my best,” I mumble, the words coming out slightly garbled. I try to smile in gratitude for his kind words, but my face feels stiff and numb.

His gaze is on my injury and his eyes widen in surprise. He doesn't ask permission this time, he just takes a step forward and cups my cheek.

My breath freezes in my throat at the first brush of softness.

 

_Is it his thumb or his magic?_

 

I can't tell, I'm adrift without a compass in a sea of blue. The world fades away and I can no more escape that light touch, than a mouse trapped under a lion's paw.

My traitorous heart leaps into a seductive tango.

My pants tighten a fraction. 

_Not again **...**_

 

_Hillbillies with missing teeth doing the tango... Poo painting on a hot summer day... Brazilian waxing..._

Solas inhales deeply, filling his lungs. The innocently simple sound is seductive to my ears, catching my attention faster than a clearance sale at Victoria Secret.

 

_Fucking hell!! What is he **doing**? _

_Stop being so, so attractive. Damn it!_

I shift slightly in discomfort. 

 

_Scraping already chewed gum off shoes... The awful anticipation before getting a pap smear... Crusty eye goobers..._

 

Not working! 

 

_The slimy feeling of raw chicken... A massive wedgie in the middle of a job interview... The smell of wet dog and sweaty children..._

 

Gross...

But at least it finally cures me of my one-sided lust fest. 

 

_Yep, snake charming through disgust, my new super power._

 

“Lady Cassandra, you managed to close the rift? Well done.” A deep slightly hoarse masculine voice abruptly interrupts the moment.

 

_THANK GOODNESS!_

 

Solas lets out a soft sigh, finally dropping his hand and taking a step back. 

The man that now fills my vision could only be Cullen, and I feel truly blessed that both eyeballs are now in perfect working order.

 

 ** _Wow_**.

 

That is a VERY handsome man.

I'm so star-struck that barely notice when Solas quietly draws away, observing me observing Cullen.

There's a small relieved smile on Cullen's mouth as he looks to Cassandra gratefully, and I find my eyes drawn to the scar bisecting his upper lip.

I'd have to be dead and buried not to look.

“Do not congratulate me, Commander. This is the prisoner’s doing,” Cassandra says magnanimously. I see her gesturing my direction out of the corner of my peripheral vision.

 

And that's how I get speared by a second set of the most amazing eyes I've ever seen.

 

_Speared... By both... **If only**..._

 

_That does it! I am officially a horny seventeen year old._

_I blame Solas and his inability to let me be maimed in peace._

 

I suddenly remember in one of the stories I've read, how the writer compared Cullen to a lion, and now that I've met him in person I can absolutely see why. The man is all golden and amber goodness…

 

_The sugar cookie is a sprinkle of delight!_

_So silly..._

 

“Is it? I hope they’re right about you. We’ve lost a lot of good people getting you here.” Cullen looks suspiciously at me, giving the same once-over that everyone in the Odd Squad has so far, taking measure of my appearance in all it's frumpy bloody glory.  

Damn, I wish there were cameras here, I'd take a picture of his cute frowny-face with his hair still tousled from battle.

It's so rare to see him ruffled so it'd be, you know - for science.

 

_Right._

 

**Fuck bunny! I'd tap that ass faster than a million dollar game of pin the tail on the donkey...**

 

Varric snorts loud enough that I worry for his sinuses, and Cassandra looks at me in abject horror like I just projectile vomited on her shiny metal boots.

Meanwhile, Cullen turns a flaming shade of crimson and his mouth flops open like a gaping fish.

 

_Oh no._

_Nonononononono._

 

“I just said that aloud, didn't I?” My face has officially accepted the physical challenge for who's can blush the darkest. You could fry an egg on my forehead. 

 

_Is there a steep treacherous cliff somewhere nearby that I can throw myself off of?_

 

“Yes, you did.” A dreaded voice from behind, amusement heightening his natural lilting accent.

 

_Ha! 'Dreaded' voice... like dread wolf... Lord, just shoot me now!_

“Let's… ah… just ignore that I said that.” Clearing my throat I pick at a hangnail with interest, moving right on past my inopportune inner-comedian. 

 

 

_Note to self:_

  * _Revisit Solas' unintentional leather gag idea._



 

 

“What does his attractiveness have to do with bunnies... fucking? And what game involves the of torturing animals?” Solas keeps talking, ignoring my request completely in his curiosity. 

I really REALLY want to die.

 

_And melt... He said 'fucking'..._

_Christ on a cracker, this is ridiculous. It's just a word. No need to puddle in your boots over it._

 

Cullen seems to have overcome the shock of my awkward observation/come on, and gone straight to extremely pissed off. 

"Are you addled or just plain--..." He begins furiously, his armor rattling as he flexes his shoulders and moves to step in front of me. 

I feel a vise-like grip on my elbow and I'm being roughly tugged backwards. I stumble but don't pull away as I'm dragged off to the side. 

Cassandra feels that now is the perfect timing for an anti-pervert heart-to-heart lecture. I'm just glad to be away from Cullen and his urge to be a human guillotine.  

I don't blame him. I'm pretty pissed at my head too.

 

_My mouth has a leak._

_My brain's ability to think past my own crotch, has ceased to exist with the attachment of Old Faithful, my penis nemesis._

_I'm just..._

_I can't even..._

 

"I realize that you're overwhelmed, but why would you say something like that?" 

I expected her to be as angry with me as I am with myself, but her tone is one of gentleness. I can't stop myself from impulsively hugging her and I feel her muscles stiffen in surprise. 

"I really didn't mean to," I mumble into her neck, feeling my emotions rise with a tiny hiccuping sob. 

After a moment I feel her relax and she awkwardly pats my back. 

"Don't start crying again, I've only just dried out from the last time." She pulls away and I see her smile. 

 

_Did she just make a joke?_

 

It surprises me so much that I smile back. Cassandra takes my elbow again, this time carefully, tugging lightly to get my attention. “Come on then, we’d best move quickly.”

When we join the others, all previously animated conversation stops cold. They turn to me and I look down at the ground, scuffing the toe of my boot absentmindedly. 

 

_What were they talking about just now? Me?_

 

"I'm... um... sorry for before. For what it's worth, I meant no offence." I clear the phlegm from my throat. "I... ahh... know I'm not much to look at... I'm no fighter but I'll do my best. I hope that'll be enough.”

There's a pause and I meet Cullen's gaze, my fingers locked tightly together so I don't fidget. 

“The way to the temple should be clear so we’ll see soon enough. Leliana will try to meet you there,” Cullen says gruffly, nodding at me briefly before turning away to survey the damage.

Grimly he looks out over the battlefield. The soldiers still standing are in the middle of regrouping and helping those less fortunate. Upon noticing a gravely injured man trying to rise he strides over to his side, bending to lend his assistance. 

As they carefully hobble away he looks back over his shoulder and locks eyes with me again. “Maker watch over you – for all our sakes.”

 

_I'll take whatever help I can get at this point._

 


	15. Pocketful of Posies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merry belated Christmas to all you Ballers out there!!! THANKS for supporting me through the start of this Inquisitor's illustrious journey. 
> 
> Your comments make me giddy with delight, so keep them coming!!
> 
> Pretty please, with a booze-soaked cherry on top!!!
> 
> <3

* * *

 

_Ashes ashes, we all fall down..._

 

We've made it to our final destination.

Just **how** final will it be?

 

_Cue the ominous music..._

 

“The Temple of Sacred Ashes,” Solas introduces the charred husk that stands (sort of) in front of us. He jabbers on for awhile in that musical voice of his, about how it was once a beautiful cathedral-like structure.

I squint hard but I can't really make out the original shape. The now-crumbling walls are just depressing.

"It's not much of a temple, more just ashes," I remark with a shrug.

“True, there's nothing left of it.” Varric agrees with me, humorlessly.

Moving through the rubble, I find it hard to stay detached, wincing slightly each time I pass something still on fire. Red and orange flames lick hungrily at the backened humanoid shapes that are kneeling and huddled on the ground.

Billowing greyish-black smoke lingers in the air. The acrid stench makes my nose burn and my eyes water. I hurry past as fast as I can. 

Those awful shapes were once people, and now all of them are dead. It kinda reminds me of playing Fallout, very post-apocalyptic gloomy, like a scene straight out of The Walking Dead.

 

_Oh shit!! There ARE undead in this game!_

 

I look back at the corpses in renewed horror, making a quick mental tally. They're everywhere.

So many dead in an instant...

The smell of cooked meat makes my stomach lurch and bile climb the back of my throat. I try breathing through my mouth, but that makes things even worse.

Smokey, greasy, and sooty - like a really charred hotdog.

 

_I'm gonna hurl..._

 

“That is where you walked out the Fade and our soldiers found you. They said a woman was in the rift behind you. No one knows who she was.” The timing of Cassandra's information dump is impeccable, or maybe she noticed me clutching my stomach. 

I'm grateful for the distraction.

“I don't remember.” The words are said in a whisper through numb lips.

Using Woody like a blind person's walking stick to avoid the burnt/burning obstacles that litter the ground, I start walking at a clipped pace, avoiding looking anywhere but straight ahead.

Try as I might, it's impossible to completely ignore the red-hot flames licking the broken creatures that were once living, breathing humans.

Tears prick my eyes.

 

_I may be flippant about a great many things, but this is just freaking horrible..._

 

"They no longer feel any pain," Solas says, looking at me with knowing eyes. 

Cassandra interrupts before I can respond. “I'm glad for that, at least. Now prepare yourself prisoner, we're here.”

 

_Damn. I'm not ready for this._

_Understatement of the century._

_I'd rather impale myself repeatedly on a porcupine coated in salmonella-infused lemon juice, than be here doing this..._

 

Cassandra joins Leliana off to the side conferring quietly about something I'm sure is important, but I'd rather stay ignorant in this particular instance, so I don't join them. That leaves two musketeers and I staring up at the giant swirling asshole painting everything a greenish tint.

 

_A pukey shade of lime... I should add that to the list of Things I Hate About Thedas, I'm posting to the first bulletin board I see, when I return to Haven._

**IF** I return to Haven...

 

I sigh out in a gust of self-pity.

“This rift was the first and is the key. Seal it, and perhaps we seal the Breach,” Solas says breaking the silence.

“I need a vacation,” I counter in a bland monotone. 

Varric sputters a surprised snort. “You and me both Loopy,” he exclaims. "You and me both...," he echoes again, muttering this time to himself. He looks back up at the rift and says in a louder voice, “How are you even going to reach that thing?”

An unexpected hand on my shoulder makes me jump, but I relax as soon as I see the heavy gauntlet. 

 

_Not Solas... Good... No really, it's a good thing... There's been more than enough unwelcome erections, thank you. I'm wound up plenty without that kind of distraction._

_Boy, tightly wound doesn't even cover it._

 

“This is your chance to end this prisoner. Are you ready?” Cassandra asks with gentle encouragement, squeezing my shoulder lightly. 

A few spontaneous hugs is all it takes to unlock the hidden and repressed marshmallow mommy inside her. Cassandra apparently has a strong protective instinct. At least, that's what I'm assuming her new comfort with the touchy-feely stuff is.

 

_Or is it just me?_

 

An uncomfortable cramp in my gut makes me wince. Sure, I'm dreading the fight soon to come, but first...

“I have to pee.”

All three of them look at me, shocked. “ **Now**?” They say in disbelieving unison.

“Question my bladder, not me." Huffing an embarrassed laugh I pick a direction roughly north and walk, looking for some semblance of privacy somewhere.

Over there by those rocks should be far enough.

I'm eyeballing my trousers with a reasonable amount of trepidation when Varric calls out. “Don't touch the red lyrium! It’s evil.” He sounds panicked at the thought. 

 

_Red lyrium taint through a pee stream... Is that even a possible thing? **Ha**! As if I would ever risk it to find out! _

 

“No worries, I won't urinate on the evil rocks, just the normal ones!” I call back, a little distracted. My chin rests on my chest as I continue my attention on meticulously unthreading the laces.

It's taking awhile...

I'm used to the super-complexity of yoga/sweat pants with a zipper or two thrown in only for special occasions. 

 

_There's only six laces... Stop stalling! It's just a penis._

_Yeah, but it's **my** penis._

_Sort of..._

 

Bracing myself, I stick my hand down the front of my pants, pulling out my unfamiliar appendage.

 

_**Oh.** _

 

Old Faithful is bigger than I thought it'd be and I can't help but stare as it flops against my leg. I just assumed that since I seem to be a rather small man, that all my extra parts would be as well.

I do an experimental hip wiggle. 

 

_Leather breeches must be damn stretchy..._

 

I realize that I'm looking down at my own penis in slack-jawed amazement far longer than I should in the current circumstances, when Varric calls out with concern.

“Everything okay over there Loopy?”

Snapping back to reality, I piss in a hurry, getting a little on my boots in my inexperience at aiming. Just as I'm struggling to tuck the damn thing back in my pants, they join me, still talking about lyrium amongst themselves.

“If you're quite finished with all the delays, we need to find a way down. And be careful,” Cassandra cuts in, lightly scolding and looking meaningfully at me.

 

_What? It's my first time peeing through a hose! Give me a break!_

 

I can't say that in defense so I say nothing. Instead, I quietly lead them to the stone stairs along the side of the big cavern and begin my downward decent into the Pit of Doom.

Thinking over and over, all the while, about the boss battle ahead.

 

_How am I going to survive this? So far I suck donkey turds, and this world seems firmly stuck in nightmare mode. It took me MANY reloads and LOTS of frustration to defeat that huge fucker in the game._

_What am I going to do?_

My heart is racing in my chest and my mouth feels like I've been swallowing sawdust for my last meal. Anticipation is making my breathing rush in and out to almost-gasps.

My vision is starting to get spotty. Focusing hard through the tunnel vision, I carefully make my way through the skeleton pieces that decorate Doom Pit, like a morbidly realistic haunted house lovingly chocked full of rustic Halloween charm.

I don't want to trip and impale myself. 

 

_Nothing short of final death would get me out of this.  Knowing them, they'd just patch me up again, pat me on the head, and send me on my merry way._

_There's no turning back now. I'll probably die here and my corpse will decay until it's assimilated into this lovely decor._

_Marvelous thought..._

 

  
There's a booming voice all around us but I can't make out the words through the buzzing in my ears. I remember mostly what's happening from playing the game before, but the ghostly images and flashing lights are confusing without the dialogue to support them. 

I can see that my companion's mouths are moving but I haven't mastered the art of lip reading, so I don't have a clue what they're saying. 

I stumble past some archers, completely disoriented, barely noticing anything except my own rapid breathing and the roaring in my head. Cassandra says something and I just nod and hope for the best. My companions look at each other in confusion and I point to my ears, shaking my head.

The movement makes me nausatingly dizzy, I feel numb and distant, as if I'm drunk on too much tequila. My brain is floating liquidly around in my skull like a rubber ducky in a wave pool. 

 

 _Stop_. 

_Now is so not the time for another panic attack!_

 

Heaving a sigh big enough that I can see her chestplate move, Cassandra slings her shield behind her back, locking it in place with one hand. Then she grabs my arm tightly and points her sword at the breach. 

 

_Oh. Yeah. Right._

_Great._

I can feel the attention of the cavernous room bear down on me, threatening to crush me like a cicada.  It seems, whether I'm ready or not, the time has come to end this or die trying.

Pointing my trembling palm at my faceless green whirlpool nemesis, I rend open King Ziploc in one fast pull, like ripping off a bandage.

My mark flares in response, an unexpected jab and I swallow back a cry of pain. 

 

_Breathe. 1... 2... 3... And out..._

 

The rift gapes open and a creature steps out without fanfare. The creepy fucker doesn't need it. It looks like the weird love child of Bahamut and Ifrit from Final Fantasy VII, shot up with steroids and castrated with dynamite. 

Just looking at it startles the piss out of me.

 

_Well, it would have if I had any urine left. Let's hear it for timely bathroom breaks!_

 

The beast lets out a roar that shakes the ground, popping my ears and knocking a few soldiers off their feet.

I stand there cowering in my boots. 

 

_My first Boss fight. Heaven help us all..._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally had this and the following fight in one chapter, but it got really REALLY long. I ended up breaking them into two, sooooooo next up - epic battle time! 
> 
> <3


	16. Big Daddy the Behemoth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year -- Ballers!! Here's a chapter! 
> 
> Feel free to tell me whatcha think. I LOVE reading it!
> 
> I accidentally posted this before I was finished and had a seriously hilarious panic scramble trying to copy and delete it before anyone read it. Sorry if y'all caught that confusing bit of nonsense!!!
> 
> <3

 

_Fate, or whoever you are, if there's anyone out there listening... Throw me a bone here, okay??_

While P-Diddily stands there and roars menacingly, everything and everyone else jumps into overdrive, faster than I can follow. Attacks, both friendly and not, are taking place from every direction.

It's total chaos. Pandemonium, in proportions that I have never experienced and never wish to again.

 

_Almost like Black Friday shopping in costumes, with weapons. Sooooooo many weapons..._

 

And there, in the middle of it all is Big Daddy the Pride demon.

 

_**Son of a b-hole biscuit-eater...** _

 

I look up and up and up, until my neck is craned at an uncomfortable angle. There's a surreal moment where I feel like I'm in a picture book with the tiny man-sized shadow standing next to a Tyrannosaurus Rex. The damn thing is almost as tall as a three-story house! This is Amityville-level horror shit, with horns and spines, and legs like dinosaur drumsticks.

 

_Screw roasted turkey legs, I'd like to fry up one of those..._

_Okay, WEIRDO-- that came out of nowhere... Exactly how long has it been since I've had anything to eat? Even my inner dialogue is starting to get creepy._

_Just starting? Right._

 

Then it unfurls whips made from pure white-blue lightening and directs it's scary eyeball-focus straight at me.

My body freezes in a spike of horrified terror like my XL ass is trapped in a store catering only to extra smalls.

All the chaos fades into the background, we're all that exist in that moment.

Just me and Big D...

 

_That has a catchy ring to it. Maybe I'll write a song?_

 

 

> _Look at me, next to Big D_
> 
> _Lousy with this armory._
> 
> _Won't escape being bled_
> 
> _Till I'm officially dead_
> 
> _I can't, I'm next to Big D._

_Or maybe an original epic bardic tale of heroic suffering and woe starring an accident prone but scrappy elf and guest-starring Old Faithful - his surprisingly impressive third leg?_

_Hmmmmmmm..._

 

" **Run!!** " Someone shouts at me, bless them.

My mind snaps right back to reality, the word breaking through my paralysis like a horn blaring at a green light. With a manly warcry that could also potentially be confused for a child's scream, I turn and get the holy hell away from my battling comrades.

I duck behind a thirty foot wide stalagmite, hiding huddled and terrified, occasionally psyching myself up enough to peek around the edge to watch the good guys whittle away at Daddy Drumstick.

 

_Don't just stand there like a wussy, suck it up and do something useful!_

 

As the room full of combatants all keep Big Doofus busy, It dawns on me that now is probably the best time to perform my side-show magic act. I may be a one trick pony right now, but juggling green sparkle balls and then tossing them into the rift doesn't seem like a task anyone else is lining up to do.

The sparkles don't even fight my directional assistance. They seem more than happy this time, maybe even in a hurry to get back home again. I guess the little guys don't like D-funk any more than I do.

 

_Almost there. This is going smoother than I thought..._

_Don't even **think** it dumbass!_

 

I've been keeping D-prick in my sights, making sure that I duck back into obscurity when I see the horns angle my way. What I've forgotten about, because this is all happening FAST, is the other evil minions.

Up until one of them appears out of nowhere, and swipes a malformed hand with really large claws at me. I cover my face, automatically hiding behind outstretched hands. Half a second later, an uminaginable amount of pain explodes from my chest and there's no time to react.

Except to scream.

And scream I do aplenty, as the claws rip into muscle with unrelenting pressure. I try to turn away, l try to defend myself, but when a claw knicks a rib, I almost black out.

 

_RUN or DIE!_

 

I stumble backwards in dizzy confusion, tripping on something I can't see, the edges of my vision darkening in fuzzy waves as I struggle to stay on my feet.

Bright red blood splashes the stone floor-- so much it's scaring me. I slam my hands to the wounds, pressing torn skin back together, desperately trying to stop the blood flow.

Time seems to slow down.

 

_Red, red, red red **so much red.**_

_How much blood can one person lose?_

 

Edward the scissor-handed demon's very effective attack is suddenly cut off by a curving wall of solid ice and my light is obscured by an off-white embrace.

 

_I'm such an ass... Now, I'm single-handedly ruining his famously boring outfit... How will he ever get all the blood stains out?_

 

I'd laugh at my utter ridiculousness, but I can barely draw breath into my lungs, it seems like too much effort at this point. My over-taxed heart is thundering in my ears as I fight to stay conscious. My unresponsive body weighs a thousand pounds. My legs finally just give out and I fall.

Down down down.

 

_Tired._

_I'm so... tired._

_Numb._

_There's no pain anymore._

_Not a bad way to go..._

 

Solas' face appears, hovering in my blurry line of vision. Completely out of it, I blink in startled surprise at seeing him suddenly so close, my gaze traces his sensual lips as they part, pulling out the cork stopper of a glass bottle with his teeth.

 

_So gleaming white... How is that possible without modern dentistry?_

 

"Stay with us, Lucy! This is not over. You are not yet finished!" He says emphatically as he pours the red liquid down my throat.

The words seem to be coming from a great distance, making them difficult to understand. I watch his lips move in fascination, but can't make my brain decipher the meaning.

He reaches out and the world seems to tilt funky as I follow the mesmerizing movement of his hand. He grips my chin harder than is strictly necessary, forcing me to meet his eyes.

" **Stay with me.** " These words are said in a growl that finally gets my sluggish blood moving again. There's an uncomfortable burning itch along the entire front of my torso, and I won't say that I'm back on my feet in a flash, but...

Not willing to waste a single second more, Solas grabs me by the waist and lifts me, running and sliding just as there's a massive explosion behind him and ice rains down on us in a shower of deadly snowflakes.

The pointy dust shards haven't even settled before he tries to heft me up to my feet without a word, hand tight around mine. Unfortunately, my hands are slick like I've coated them in motor oil, instead of blood from my earlier attempt at first aid.

Shifting his grip to avoid my slippery fingers, he takes me by the wrist instead and drags me away.

"Hurry, we are almost there." His voice is low and impatient.

 

_Huh? Almost where?_

 

He tugs me along behind him for a moment, before roughly pushing me into a niche in the rocks and pinning me against the wall. Being pressed flat and sheltered against his chest, I can feel his whole body shaking.

I open my mouth, but he interrupts before I can say anything.

"Keep quiet. I just need a second," he says, breathing hard.

I wait and listen to him recover. 

And ignore like mad how close we are. Maybe... Maybe not...

 

_Not. The. Time._

 

He abruptly shoves himself off of me just as a thin cracking strip of bluish white loops around his neck, wrapping tight and ripping him away and pulling him halfway across the cavernous room.

 

**FUCK!**

 

I'm freaking out. Solas isn't moving. From this distance all I can see is a broken form. My heart stops beating and I'm internally screaming, as I wait for him to stand up, but he remains laying there in a crumpled heap. I can't even tell if he's breathing.

I sway, trying to regain my balance. 

I'm unsteady and nauseous and...

 

**ANGRY.**

 

_How. **Dare**. That fucking **thing** hurt_

_(he can't be dead/please say he's not dead)_

_the man that I... that I..._

 

Cassandra shouts in alarm, disbelief written all over her face as I make a beeline straight for Daddy Dino Disaster. The world is blinking in and out of my vision, like I'm on a psychedelic drug, but that's... not important right now.

Something is glowing off to the side, but I won't be distracted from bringing my brand of pain and suffering to the huge laughing Dill-hole.

 

_You won't be laughing soon, you obnoxious son of a whore! You bitter twit biter! You pug-ugly ferret fucker! You chicken shit ass maggot! You pickle-prick idiot! You warthog-faced baffoon!!!!_

_I'll shove that lightening so far up your ass, it'll be ticking your eyeballs like phosphorescent eyelashes!!!_

 

It's like a switch I didn't know existed has been flipped and superglued on. In a furious blur with no room for fear, I dive and weave between attacks, my sword and dagger sliding out of their scabbards with a satisfying sound.

In my blind rage, I launch myself upwards. An inhuman, guttural laugh of my own making my words almost nonsensical.

 

“ **YOU** — You wanted me, Daddy D??? Well, here I am!!!”

 

I ram thin, metal blades through the thick hide of the beast's thigh. Baby and Mama are sharp and willing. My own injuries are easy to ignore in my thirst for bloody revenge, not even a twinge registers or interferes.

I yank my blades out, only to adjust my grip to jab them in again, over and over.

 

"You like that? **Who's your DADDY now**??"

 

Right. Then left. Then right again.

With each syllable I yell is another coordinating thrust, shattering flesh in chunks and splintering bones with thunderous, agonizing force that reverberates all the way to my shoulders.

 

“YOU. WILL. **NOT**. TOUCH. HIM. **EVER**. **AGAIN**!!!!”

 

D-bag swats at me clumsily with his massive hand, stumbling. Off-balance, he falls to the ground with an earth shattering crash. It shakes the floor in earthquake shocks, knocking soldiers over like they're nothing but bowling pins.

I ride him all the way down, my giant meaty surfboard.

Using my weapons like climbing hooks, I pull myself up D-putz's hulking mass and alter my attacks to more vulnerable areas. My world narrows to the beautiful squish of burying blades in flesh. It roars in pain, thrashing and bucking wildly to throw me off. 

 

_Not good enough._

 

"ARRRRRRRRGGGGGHHHHH!" I roar back in it's ugly face and redouble my efforts. My weapons feel hot in my hands as I gouge and carve with everything I have. Sinking in as deeply as my arms will allow. 

 

_Must. Keep. Going._

 

Eventually the permeating stench of sulphur and perforated bowels penetrates my bloodlust. The smell is overwhelmingly rancid as the large carcass starts to crumble beneath me.

My blades are stuck too far in to pry loose, I can't retrieve them. So with sadness, I'm forced to leave Baby Mama behind and scramble down the strangest mud/blood slide that has ever been created. 

My senses are flooded with... applause?

_What?_

 

I look up in confusion, wincing as my battered body says 'hello' with all CAPITAL subtitles. My collection of wounds has become a banquet for pain to which every nerve in my body cordially attends.

It's all I can do, to hold back the whimpers.

I can only curse, and curse again. Emphatically.

Cassandra, the fearsome warrior, is looking at me in awe like I just sculpted a beautiful work of art out of a steaming pile of shit. And she's not the only one. Soldiers and archers alike are gaping at me like I'm a rockstar.

Like I'm the answer to their serial killer dreams.

 

_Ummmmm..._

_**Solas!**  Is he...??_

 

He meets my eyes across the room, as if reading my thoughts. The small movement hits me like a jolt of electricity down my spine.

He stands with marginal help from Varric and I relax my head back, looking at the ceiling in relief. Fluffy sparkling cottonballs drift down from where they had apparently been waiting patiently for my acknowledgement.

 

_Ahhhh. Yes. The biggest and mightiest asshole of them all is waiting for a stapling._

 

I take a deep breath and with the very last ounce of my strength, I lift my arm and point it at the breach. With barely a thought, my sparkle friends float obediently back inside. With the return of each one, it gets a little brighter until I'm squinting.

As the glowing intensifies, a pressure starts building inside my veins, like millions of tiny needles, pricking and slicing acidic rivits up my arm.

My body is suddenly lit up in pain, my nerve endings are on fire. The agonizing torrent spreads from my arm and spirals outwards, my back arching and spasming until it feels like it is going to snap.

 

_The pain! Oh my holy trucker-fucker, THE PAIN!!!!_

 

Gravity and the ground beneath me take over.

 

**THUD**

 

I fall, slamming my head against the stone. In that moment where my neck might have cracked, Solas is there at my side, his entire being glowing softly.

His dilated pupils are the last thing I see before everything goes pitch black.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What trouble is in the works for our beloved in Haven?
> 
> I'm sure everything will go perfectly... *snicker*
> 
> Keep on reading (and hopefully enjoying) to find out!
> 
> <3


	17. Cravin' Haven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big snuggles and very macho high-fives for all of you Ballers that have patiently stuck with me this far... and so the saga continues on to Haven... (Sort of)
> 
> Along with additions of new characters and tags.
> 
> FYI: I'm not planning on giving warnings for sexy chapters -- SURPRISE!
> 
> <3

 

**Tick. Tick. Tick.**

 

_rustle...rustle_

 

**AHEM.**

 

 

A sound stirs me from a deep, hibernation-like slumber. Lifting my head off the hard flat surface that's a shitty excuse for a pillow, I roll the stiffness out of my neck and shoulders.

 

 

_Ugh..._

_Holy damnation, my muscles are cramped in knots._

 

 

Yawning wide enough that my jaw pops, I rub the gumminess from my eyes, using my palm to massage some feeling back into my right cheek and surreptitiously wipe the drool trail from the corner of my mouth. 

I blink open my eyes, uneasiness settling in the pit of my stomach like the last sip of a warm flat beer. I'm not sure what to expect.

 

 

_If it's that fucking dungeon room AGAIN..._

 

 

The first thing my hazy eyes focus on is the puddle of clear drool maring otherwise pretty, medium cherry woodgrain in front of me.

I'm relieved to not be in Torture Room 1B, but for real — Since when do I have **that** much saliva?

 

 

_What was I doing bobbing for snowcones in my sleep? Dreaming of the world's largest penis popsicle?  Maybe a slobber challenge with a ice cream truck driver nicknamed Mr. Tongue?_

_Ewwww gross. And disturbing..._

 

 

I guess is too darn much to ask, to be tucked nice and comfy in a bed. Just once - that'd be great. Instead, I find myself hunched over in a hard chair leaning on what looks like a small desk. 

Blinking rapidly in confusion at my unexpected surroundings, I sit up straighter and look around. I notice walls, thankfully not made of cold grey stone, but beige plaster. Plus, there's not just the chair and desk I'm using, but a room full of empty desks just like it.

Something tickles the back of my brain. This room seems vaguely familiar, almost like I've been here before...

Deja-vu?  

 

 

_Wait... Ah haaa!! Not just a random room... This looks EXACTLY like my Foreign Languages classroom from my community college days._

 

 

I glance back down in a hurry, my long copper braid falling over my shoulder with the movement. Patting myself down quickly, I sigh in relief. I'm all me again— tits, vagina, and all the bits in between. 

 

 

_I KNEW IT!!!_

_The whole thing **was** a dream after all, a twisted and insane nightmare, from which I'm finally free. _

_That unrealistic hogwash story really **had** gotten progressively sillier and sillier — I knew that whole stupid mess was impossible! _

_It had all seemed so real, but I'm sincerely and eternally grateful that it wasn't. How blissful it is to awaken peacefully... To not be automatically thrown into a panic-inducing struggle, and near-death experiences every fifteen minutes!_

_To think that my mind is so lucid, imaginative enough to create such a dreamscape… it's rather impressive. Although, if I was going to dream so vividly, I'd rather it contain less embarrassment and corpses, and something more heart-poundingly naughty..._

 

 

" **AHEM**."

I hurriedly wipe up the puddle with the sleeve of my hoodie and straighten up in my chair, embarrassed at getting caught sleeping in class. I've never done that before that I can recall. Pulling my tablet out of the trusty orange Jansport backpack at my feet, I rush to cover my rudeness. 

"I am still waiting for your answer," my professor says, his words clipped in impatience putting down the textbook with a thump.  
 

 

_That's super weird. I don't remember her name, but my foreign language teacher was definitely a chick. Did we get a substitute or something? And why am I the only one here?_

 

 

I glance up with my stylus poised and ready, a bland sort of friendly smile on my lips. "I'm sorry, could you repea-eeeiiiiii!" My question is interrupted by my own startled screech, the expression dropping from my face when I see who it is.

I stare at Solas, speechless, heart in my throat. Shock taking is place like a overly-familiar understudy, coiled in my chest.

How?

Why?

Huh?

He's straightening piles of already straightened books, and his eyes flick up to mine briefly. A second of confusion crosses his features before dispersing into... whatever. I'm not really paying to close attention to his face, honestly, I'm too distracted.

 

 

_Well, slap my ass and call me Miss Piggy._

_But I'd rather slap his... those pants are... **tight**... _

 

 

Modern attire suits him. The cut of the dress shirt, showcasing his slim body, a sledgehammer reminder that there's not an ounce of fat on those abs or that waistline. Unbuttoned just enough to hint at the defined swell of pectorals — the midnight color highlighting the fairness of his skin, daring me to find out what's underneath.

His clothing is evil. Pure evil. It should be torn from him and burned in a raging bonfire. Good thing my crotch feels hot enough to combust any minute and save us the kindling...

Well, at least my libido still works. 

 

 

_Cheese Nips and cracker crumbs, I'd **deep** fry that corndog until it was golden and delicious. _

_I'd like to butter his corncob and—_

 

 

“Come here.” He snaps at me crankily, interrupting my silent gawking. (How long was I staring?) He pinches the bridge of his nose as if he has an especially aggravating headache.

I almost do come... right in my sweatpants.

 

 

_Not really._

_Ha! Seriously?_

_That'd be ridiculous._

 

 

My mind is reeling at the impossibility of all this.

 

> _I think I'll steer clear,_  
>  _Over here,_  
>  _On my rear,_  
>  _My grumpy dear._
> 
> _Though you're mightily scrumptious,_  
>  _Don't be presumptuous._
> 
> _Yes you're hot when you're surly,_  
>  _But I still wish you were curly._
> 
> _It's better this way,_  
>  _Whatever you say,_  
>  _Away from your sway._
> 
> _You're supposed to be fiction,_  
>  _Now I'm stuck thinking of friction._
> 
> _I need my head out of my ass,_  
>  _And to stop being so crass._
> 
> _There's safety in distance,_  
>  _It increases my resistance,_  
>  _Despite your instance,_  
>  _Your avid persistence._
> 
> _My thoughts are mostly scandalous,_  
>  _I should focus more on abstinence._
> 
> _So leave me be,_  
>  _Immediately._  
>  _Insistently._  
>  _Permanently... I think so... Maybe??_

Since when does my mind reel in rhyme?

Crappy poetry aside, I'm still frozen in indecision, my body at war with my brain. I hesitate for a couple of seconds more, and it's a couple too many for him.

“It was **not**  a request and I will **not** repeat myself.” He bites out, voice cracking in the threatening whip-like manner I've heard once before.

Before I can process and stop myself, I'm up and walking to the front in instant compliance. 

 

 

_Just wait a damn minute, you traitorous appendages! I didn't give you permission to move!_

_What the fuck? Quit it!_

 

 

I'm still arguing with myself, when he gestures to the board with one hand and gives me the chalk. Backing off, he paces in long strides while he waits for my answer, arms clasped behind his back in a gesture so familiar that my head spins.

I tear my eyes away and look up at the board.

 

> WHO ARE YOU?

 

I stare at the words written in elegant script, completely at a loss. I don't know what to say, what to write. Mind blank, not knowing what else to do I begin spelling out: 

 

> L U C

 

His hand covers mine, long fingertips closing around my chalk-clutching hand. With strength behind the motion, he guides my hand in a line through the name I had started. Underneath it he corrects me, and spells out with our combined hands:

 

> ~~LUC~~
> 
> L I A R

 

As soon as the word's done, his fingers slide to my wrist and with a smooth unexpected motion, he twists my arm behind my back. 

“Who. Are. You.” He enunciates clearly. "Tell me!" His voice a demanding near-growl in my ear as he pulls up on my arm painfully.

“I don't remember!” I cry out immediately, gasping and sputtering in shock by his sudden roughness. "Let go!" Instinctually I struggle against him, breathing in gulps, torn between both fight and flight impulses. 

 

 

_What the fuck, Solas?!_

 

 

He inhales sharply and his touch gentles as he releases his hold on my arm. He frowns, rubbing his chin, obviously in deep thought, and then after a time it all just melts away. The anger slides off him, leaving zero trace of ire behind. 

"I apologize for my behavior, but I had to ask. I must be certain." He says seriously, not sounding especially sorry.

I don't know what to think. 

"You could have just used you words like a big boy, you didn't have to manhandle me." I grumble in protest, rubbing my arm for added effect. It honestly doesn't hurt anymore, but I don't feel particularly magnanimous at the moment. 

He crosses his arms and tilts his head, looking down at me and slowly letting out a breath. “I have already apologized for my... impoliteness, once,” he says. His voice is stern, like a disapproving parent giving me a warning. 

I stand there completely flabbergasted, my jaw dropping and my mouth flapping open in disbelief.

 

 

_Impoliteness?!? Wow... He has a Texas-sized set of balls on him, doesn't he??_

_He can shove that authoritative bullshit right back up the poop-shoot it came from!!_

_The fucking nerve of the bald bastard..._

 

 

Ignoring my death glare, he lifts my mouth shut with a finger and gives me a crooked smile.

I bat his hand away automatically, my irritation increasing tenfold. I feel like I'm going Super Saiyan, like I should have all the popping veins and accompanying glowing wind, to match the current state of my blossoming rage. 

" **IMPOLITE!?!** You call trying to dislocate my arm, ' **impolite** **'**? Are you fucking kidding me right now?" I round on him, seething with indignation, hackles raised and hissing, like a cat that's been thrown in a sink full of water.

 

 

_Screw Dragon Ball Z, I'd rather have damn Wolverine claws! That would be useful right about now, all that obnoxiously smooth, perfect skin could use a few scars._

_Okay, so yes, I know I'm being a bit dramatic. Yes, I'm blowing things out of proportion, but his wording hit me broadside. And about as welcome as a strip-tease with a tailbone boil._

_Sometimes, the sheer audacity of this man, rankles me to my toenails._

 

 

"I assure you, I am not 'fucking' anything at the moment," he responds evenly, raising an eyebrow. 

 

 

_Speaking of blowing... Oops. Nope. Start over. Not gonna work. I'm too irritated to melt this time._

_**I meant** : Speaking of **wording** , is the bastard deliberately taunting me? _

_I'll elbow him, right in his pretty face._

 

 

Mentally flipping back a few sentences, I clear my throat and try to lace my words with as much scorn as I can muster. "Yeah well, don't be sorry, asshole, be more considerate."

 

 

_There! Stuff it, Solas!_

 

 

Before I finish my sentence, there's a rustle of cloth and a large hand wraps around my waist. I jump with a squeak, startled by his touch. His thumb begins making small circles on my lower back, soothing my heart and breathing back to normal, and my temper right along with it.

It works like a charm, damn it all.

"Ahhh I didn't mean... you don't need to... that's not... um necessary." I mumble at the floor. I think I'm blushing. 

My mind is reeling again, blessedly not in rhyme this time, from his stranger than usual behavior. I feel completely off-balance, like my brain is struggling along a racetrack that my body has already lapped twice. 

He lifts my chin back up, giving me a calculated look. "You certainly are a puzzle are you not?" He strokes my cheek with the back of his knuckles.

I can't help my slight smile from his observation, but I bite my lower lip to keep it from spreading.

 

 

_You have no idea..._

 

 

“Shall I unravel you with kindness?” He asks softly, shifting his hand to cup my face, thumb brushing my lips lightly before running along my jaw. The motions are so careful, so gentle, as if I'm something precious and breakable.

 

 

_Uhhhhhhhh..._

 

 

“Is that what you want?” He whispers and his fingers move to my nape, cradling my head.

Hypnotized, I welcome his touch as if I've been waiting for it my whole life, my heart beating slow and rhythmically. The smell of him, masculine and subtle, envelops me entirely and I lose all sense of willpower to resist.

 

 

_Resistance is futile... Sigh..._

_What is it about him that turns my usually titanium-reinforced spine into silly putty?_

 

 

I could let go with ease, with as much consideration  as I use deciding how much toilet paper to wipe with or what pair of socks to wear.

I could give in entirely to the sappy goo that's crippling my insides.

I want to, just because of a simple caress and a few soft words. That  **should** be setting off alarms in my mind.

 

"Or are you a complicated puzzle? Do your pieces need to be _forced_ together to take the proper shape?" His voice drops an octave as he continues, his gentle fingers burying in my hair. His inviting caress evolving seamlessly into a harsh grip around the base of my braid.

He pulls, forcing my chin up higher, forcing me to meet his eyes. “Is that what you _need_? Do you want me to **take**  from you, _everything_ you could reveal?”

My breath catches in my throat. 

I am aware of nothing. I care about nothing.

Nothing but him.

The _look_ in his eyes blots out the world.

I'm am no longer made of bones and flesh, I am made of desire.

 

I don't know what he sees on my face, but whatever it is, he pulls away, dropping his hand. I sag in disappointment at the sudden lack of contact, and immediately have an overwhelming urge to kick my own ass.

 

 

_Don't be so naive, he's obviously just toying with my bewildered affections. It'd be stupid to let him know how badly I want this, want him. I can't give him that kind of power._

 

 

I stand there, frozen and huffing like a asthmatic mannequin as I struggle to find words. I struggle to ignore the inconvenient ache between my thighs.

He looks lost in thought for a moment, then takes my left hand, gazing at my palm in consideration, before sliding the sleeve of my sweatshirt up marginally and loosely gripping my wrist. He stays like that without moving, as if trying to determine the situation, as if trying to measure my state of mind.

 

 

_I wish you the best of luck in that department. Hell, even I don't have a clue how I'm feeling right now._

_Irritation is definitely at the top of the list, but following behind right on it's heels, is confusion, and confliction._

 

There's intentionally no strength behind his grip, like he's testing my resolve. I could pull away easily, but I don't. I'm not sure if it's curiosity or idiocy motivating  me to leave my hand where it is.

I'm not exactly sure that I care. 

One finger runs the length of my forearm, slow as corn syrup on a stack of pancakes, the sleeve melting away like watercolor when he passes over it until my arm is bare to my shoulder.

He stops and looks up at me for a few seconds, then moves to the other wrist doing the same process again.

 

 

_Huh? What's this?_

 

 

“There's beauty in subtlety. I can show you...” He says, his words trailing off, his fingers lingering at my right shoulder. He eyes my new altered sweatshirt-vest consideringly before moving slowly around me in a circle.

I watch in equal parts astonishment and confusion, as his hands lightly trace lines on my torso and legs. He does it slowly and meticulously, but the patterns are intricate enough that I still can't follow them. He hums a beautifully haunting melody I've never heard before as he continues to circle.

It's fascinating.

My mind clears from the last tendrils of the lingering lust-haze. The fluidity of his movements has my rapt attention. I have no idea what he's doing, but I'm certainly enjoying watching him do it.

 

 

_It doesn't actually look like he's doing anything, and I'm sort of out of my element here... Is this some elven ritual that I don't know about?_

 

 

Reaching an end to the song and accompanying touchy-feely dance, He steps back eyeballing my clothing critically. Then he looks up at me, smiling playfully, and snaps his fingers.

My clothing doesn't just fall to the floor, pieces flutter around me in a gentle whirlwind of glittering butterflies. I watch in awestruck rapture as they soar as if brought to life, mesmerized and dazed, until the last one lands and disappears in a small burst of shimmery light.

 

 

_That is... That is the most AMAZING thing I've EVER seen..._

_I could be a freaking Disney princess, like Pocahontas in 'Colors of the Wind'. All I need is a swan dive over an impossibly high cliff._

_And a pet raccoon, DEFINITELY a pet raccoon._

 

 

I look over at him, noticing that he's observing me again. Acting impulsively, without even thinking about it, I take a couple steps over to him and wrap him in a tight hug.

“Oh, Solas…” My voice is soft in wonder, barely a hint of sound in his ear. He pulls back and I meet his eyes. Reaching up, I run my fingers along the hard line of his jaw, brushing his cheekbone lightly.

He smiles down at me, and the smile I give him in return could light up the entire room.

 

 

_That was just... WOW... Words really can't describe it._

 

 

It takes me awhile, but eventually I realize that I'm embracing him clad only in my bra and panties (Why was today NOT a matching Victoria Secret day?). His hand skims the curve of my hip. Up and down. Left to right. Featherlight touches and lazy circles.

 

 

_What the hell am I doing? I'm flip flopping more than a tourist on vacation in Hawaii._

 

 

As I start to pull away, his fingers on my hip tighten and he turns, pulling me firmly against him instead. My breasts are pressed tight to his chest and my heart accelerates. My temperature skyrockets straight to steaming Hot Pocket level. 

The atmosphere grows heavy with tense energy until it's almost palatable. His hand tightens more and I stifle a groan, but I can't suppress the reflexive shiver.

 

 

_Woah._

_I didn't know it was possible for my body to switch gears that quickly._

_Repress. Your. Shit._

 

 

Responding to the subtle clues that I couldn't quite hide, with a predatory flash of teeth, he spins me in place as if we're in the midst of a waltz, then drops his hands and moves with equally graceful ease around behind me.

“I can show you,” he says again, His fingers running lightly from my nape to my collarbone. "But, I believe you would prefer...” He leans in close enough that his breath tickles my ear. 

"... **this**." As he finishes his sentence, his arms tighten around me, controlling my movement, caging me with biceps that are as firm as concrete. Immediately, I can feel it all, the smooth fabric of his pants, the rough texture of his shirt, the hardness of the muscles underneath, my Rainbow Dash-covered ass pressing against his fully clothed front.

His restraint is making me crazy.

 

 

_No crazy isn't right._

_More like a shot of desire that pierces me, so strong it's overwhelming._

_Yep, definitely that. At the very least..._

 

The fact that one hand is now firmly gripping my throat shouldn't be so erotic.

But, **fucking hell** , it really is.

 

 

_Violence, just under the surface._

_Addictive as heroine… or even... Pringles._

 

 

“Ahhh, I thought so…” There's that octave again, so low it rumbles. A seductive whisper that burrows deep in my blood.

Using his grip, he angles my head to the side and puts his lips with sensual slowness on the delicate skin. The touch of his lips is intoxicating, almost unreal. He kisses the curve of my neck, gently. Light simple **teasing** little kisses, he doesn't suck or nibble.

Oh, how I want him to. Just thinking about Solas leaving a mark all his own on my body… My need is desperate and frantic.

I want to beg him for it.

When I do feel his teeth, the sensation makes everything clench. The pain when he bites lightly, makes me moan in helpless ecstasy, head falling back on his shoulder in complete submission.

Every muscle in his body stiffens at the sound.

Abruptly he loosens his hold, shoving me away and down, my hands slapping the polished wood as he bends me forward over his desk. He pauses, one hand running almost reverently, from my neck to the base of my spine in a unhurried track. Then he hooks a finger under the side strap of my panties, using it to draw my Lisa Frank-colored rump out a foot.

 

 

_Ponies frolicking in Ponyville… Real sexy._

_About as irresistible as cankles on a swimsuit model._

 

 

“You are not what I expected,” he says, the hoarseness in his voice and the telltale sound of fabric being torn, making my knees weak.

 

 

_I guess that's one way to put the ponies out to pasture._

_Ugh. Jokes, now? At a time like this?_

 

 

One foot moves between mine to widen my stance and then he takes a step back, not touching me any further.

"Stay there." The two word command leaves no room for disobedience.

I stand there completely bare from the waist down and trembling with anticipation. A delightful shiver runs through my spine and my breathing intensifies. Goosebumps break out all over my body.

 

 

_What is he going to do?_

 

 

A minute passes. Well, close. I impatiently count 53 ticks of a clock I can't see. Anticipation is killing me. 

I don't know where he is, I can hardly hear him breathing. I wish I could see his face, gauge what's going through his head. I can feel nothing else but his presence somewhere behind me, and the blood beating in my temples.

“Do you wish to continue?” He asks suddenly, his voice still a deep rumbling timbre but the earlier hoarseness is gone.

 

 

_Do I wish to continue?_

_FOR THE LOVE OF PENGUIN SLIPPERS, **YES!!!!**_

_I'd sell all my worldly possessions, for a stack of quarters to put in that particular arcade machine!_

 

 

I nod emphatically, not trusting my voice.

I can hear his quiet, measured footsteps getting closer.

"Do you want me to taste you?" He whispers. He inhales deeply, "I bet you taste even better than you smell." His words come out a sexy purr.

My brain short circuits 

 

 

_……._

 

 

I'm liquefied.

 

 

_………_

 

 

And completely unprepared.

 

 

_…….._

 

 

My legs wobble, almost giving out. The air seems to have chemically altered to a solid mass, it's suddenly very hard to breathe. My heart is about to explode.

Admitting that I want his mouth all over me is the understatement of the decade. Or century... Or millennium...

 

 

_To hell with propriety and judgment. To hell with decorum and what I should do. To hell with what's smart. To hell with deciphering what's real or not. To hell with trying to make any logical sense of any of this shit._

_TO HELL with EVERYTHING!_

_It's been far too long since I've experienced even a fraction of this desire._

 

 

“ _Please_.” It comes out a croak, my voice cracking in the middle of the word.

“Then tell me...” He begins, carefully picking up my braid, slowly and meticulously winding it around his wrist. He's close enough to touch, I itch to reach out to him but I grip the edge of the desk instead. 

“ ** _Anything_**.” I interrupt whatever he was going to say, breathlessly. At this point I'd tell him my my PIN number, my bra size, the last time I ate a whole family-sized bag of potato chips by myself, my social security number, the color of my favorite vibrator - whatever he wants to know.

He rewards my answer by hauling me against him, hard. My spine bows and my neck arches, head falling back at the delicious pain. His body presses against mine heavily and I writhe, reveling in the sensation.

I need him desperately.

I don't even know where I am anymore. I'm just a scorching, pleading body, burning with impatience.

" **Who are you?** " The demanding growl reverberates in his chest and throughout my body. 

It's impossible to see his face because he's holding me firmly up against him. My hair wrapped tight in his fist in such a way that I can't move my head.

I can't think straight anymore.

My mouth opens obligingly.

I hear the rustle of fabric and the unmistakable sound of a zipper. My entire body clenches. I have no doubts now, where this is leading, as I wait to hear his clothing hit the floor.

 

**CRASH**

 

_Wait.… fabric shouldn't..._

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you need me, I'll just be over here in the corner, peeking over my fingertips and waiting for your reaction.
> 
> <3


	18. Pop Goes the Weasel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiiiiiiiii Ballers!!! Here's a chapter! I hope y'all like it!!
> 
> Don't forget to let me know whatcha think - your comments are FABULOUS!!!
> 
> <3

  
My eyelids spring open in an instant, as if someone just slapped me in the face, shot me up with adrenaline, or shoved a blaring alarm clock in my ear. I'm lying in a bed I don't recognize, in a room that's equally unfamiliar and there's no air siren, but my heart is still racing like there is. Or still racing from...

 

  
**NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!**

 

 

_It was a dream... Fucking fuck FUCK. Just a stupid goddamn **dream**. Karma and Fate can go suck it!!! _

_What evil thing did I do to deserve this?_

_And why, oh why, did it have to end right there?_

_Fuck you Fate, you manipulative prick-hole! I'm freaking pissed! You tricked me into believing, even against my better judgement, that it was all somehow real. That HE was real. But now I realize that the whole thing was just teasing fantasy smut so you could chortle at my foolishness._

_Well, it worked - I feel like a complete fool._

_If you had a face, I'd punch it._

 

 

I want to bang my head against something hard enough to knock me back unconscious. It was just a dream, but damn it all to the fiery pits of my bowls after an all-you-can-eat sriracha-infused buffet.

The sexual frustration is REAL.

Dream Solas was going to spear me with his dream cock, and even though it all turned out to be make-believe stemming from my dark and depraved soul, I was juiced up and ready to go.

 

 

_Now what?_

 

 

“What the actual fuck is going on?” I complain to the ceiling in utter disgust.

I **had** wished to be in a bed for once, but this is **not** what I had in mind... So, I guess Fate and Edgar Allan Poe are besties with benefits because this is a little too Monkey's Paw for my comfort. I guess I need to be more careful exactly what I wish for...

"I-I… a-appologize… s-s-sir," says a timid voice.

I sit up in surprise. I wasn't expecting an answer. I glance to my left in shock. Apparently, THE sound that ended the best part of a dream, a dream that I thought ( _hoped, wished, prayed_ ) was reality, is what looked like my breakfast hitting the ground.  

Now, the tray is overturned on the floor with an elf crouching down amidst the mess, muttering repeated apologies and hurriedly trying to scoop up the spilled food with broken pottery.

"I d-didn’t mean t-to wake you, I-I swear!” Still not looking at me, she turns the tray over and starts piling up the mess, scrambling to pick up the broken pieces and the remaining scraps.

 

 

_So, back in nightmare-world with the friendly talkative maid. I'd much rather have Solas the substitute collage professor and his very hands-on but confusing teaching style._

_Damn and blast it all!_

_What was with all those 'who are you' questions? Am I having a subconscious identity crisis? I mean, I can't say I'm that surprised, I've had more than enough to process lately. I'm not a crier, but all this shit is nutball crazy enough that I should be a blubbering and rambling incoherently._

_Shut your face, Fate. I mean, **more** that I have already!_

 

“Awe, sweetheart, don't worry about that, just leave it and I'll clean it up later.” I say gruffly, irritated at the circumstances because of her clumsiness. If only she had waited just a few minutes longer...

 

 

_At least long enough for penetration -come on- throw a girl a bone here! I can't even begin to imagine what that would feel like... I certainly would have LOVED to..._

_Sigh... Just fucking quit it already!_

_Thinking about it feels like pressing on a fresh bruise, painful but weirdly irresistible. It's difficult not to dwell on the 'what if's' when it's something I desperately want..._

 

 

I'd like to be alone, but I can't really be angry at the poor sniffling girl no matter how depressed I am at missing the plowing of a lifeline, and how disappointed my stomach is at the failed food delivery.

Keeping her head ducked and ignoring my attempt at comfort, she drops to her hands and knees. The tips of her ears are pink in embarrassment as she pulls a cloth from concealment somewhere behind her to hasten the rest of the cleaning.

 

_At least she's trying to be efficient about it._

 

I sink back against the pillows, reclining with an aggravated sigh, throwing an arm over my face and waiting for her to finish. Breathing quietly into the crook of my elbow, I listen to the scraping and clacking sounds of hurried movement until they fade away.

Good. She must be done.

"I'll j-just g-go and g-get…–" Her stuttering words cutting off mid-sentence with a startled choking gasp.

 

  
_For fuck's sake, what now?_

 

  
I drop my arm with a grumble, sitting up and looking over at her again. This time, I lock gazes with an adorably tiny female elf sporting the largest eyes I've ever seen.

Those large eyes are currently looking at me in abject horror, the tray falling from her hands with another resounding crash. I flinch, but she doesn't even look down at the sound.

I don't think she's actually blinking.

"What?" I snap irritability, rolling my eyes. I'd like to make a face and stick my tongue out in a very childish way to jolt her out of the rude staring. All these people watching and judging me is getting tiresome. 

 

 

_Yeah. Yeah. I'm the big bad asshole sealer and savior of the world. Herald of Andraste… Blah, blah... Get over it and get out, so I can wallow in self-pity some more, please._

 

 

She clutches her now-free hands to her chest defensively and slowly backs away towards the door. Her gaze never wavers from me.

She looks really frightened.  
  
I blink rapidly in confusion like I have my windshield wipers set on high speed.

 

_What gives? Did she swallow her tongue and lose the ability to speak?_

_Oh hell…_

 

 

Watching her closely I realize that she's not looking at me really, more downish a couple feet. At my lap. To be even more specific, she's staring at blankets directly over my crotch.

 

 

_OH HELL…_

_No. No! I didn't mean throw me an actual bone!!_

 

The cozy blanket is tented like the center pole of a big top circus, all that's lacking for the full, dramatic effect is the red and white stripes.

I'm about as happy to see another erection as I am floating turds in a public toilet.

I could almost imagine miniature creatures with ribbons, dancing around on my pubic bone and using the damn thing for a maypole.

I could tie a string around the tip and go deep sea fishing.

I could tie it in a knot, I could tie it in a bow. I could throw it over my shoulder like a continental soldier…

 

  
_Ahem… Anyway..._

 

 

I move to toss back the corner of the blanket, ready to set things straight. Not talking about Old Faithful of course, that's quite obviously straight enough.

Stupid goddamn dick.

Tiny elf lets out a frightened squeal, scurrying backwards and looking wildly panicked as if she's planning to bolt any minute. I immediately let go of the covers and shrink away from her and back against the headboard, holding my hands out consolingly like I'm soothing a feral animal.

“I'm really sorry about this, Tiny! I haven't figured out how to control myself yet.” I nod at my offending man-part, keeping my voice low and trying to talk as calmly and evenly as I can.

If possible, she looks even more terrified by my words.

 

_What? What else am I supposed to do?_

 

Her eyes widen until I think her eyeballs are going to pop out. “P-please sir, I'm o-only s-supposed to serve you breakfast, n-n-nothing e-e-else!”

 

 

  
_Wait.…_

_Why would she..._

_Oh holy mother-bleeper shit-splatter! She thinks that I... Want her to..._

 

 

“ **No!** Don't leave! It's not like that!” I say, my voice high and loud, raised in panic of my own.

Instead of answering, she continues inching away, edging along the wall until her back hits the door. Her hand reaches and fumbles blindly behind her and her whole body tenses, ready to turn and flee.

Things are happening too fast for me to have a plan, but l have to do **something**. I can't let her leave thinking that I'd hurt her!  That's completely untrue – I would NEVER!

Acting on impulse, I shove back the covers and leap out of bed. The blanket tangles around my legs like a clingy second cousin and I trip, landing hard enough to knock the air from my lungs.

 

 

_Owwwwww, damn it!_

 

 

“L-lady Cas-s-sandra s-said t-to t-t-tell her i-i-immediately w-when y-you aw-w-woke.” Her frail body is shaking in terror, her teeth chattering and making her stuttering even worse.

"S-s-s-she s-s-s-said 'at o-o-once'!" As soon as she makes it all the way through her excuse, Tiny turns and bolts, leaving the door wide open behind her in her rush to escape.

"Wait!" I wheeze into the floorboards, hopelessly reaching out to her rapidly disappearing back.

Using the bed for support, I make it to my feet and stumble after her. “ **I'm not coming on to you!** ” I yell as loudly as I can through the open doorway, hoping she can still hear me.

The only answer is an unnerving quiet.

 

 

_Shit._

_Great big piles of stinking SHIT!_

 

 

A million eyes are staring at me in my almost nude state, curled like a hunchback and clutching my side. I'm framed by the doorway like a portrait on the mantle.

Like a lewd picture in a magazine hidden under the mattress.

Like a motion picture, with my yardstick dick bobbing enthusiastically and jauntily waving at my impromptu audience, obviously excited to personally welcome each new face and embrace the lovely sunshine-filled day.

 

 

_Nope. Not today._

 

 

I retreat right back into the safely of my rustic room and slam the door shut behind me. Slumping against it, I bury my suddenly feverish face in my hands.

I think that giving birth to the pointy end of a rake would be less painful than this!

 

 

_Can nothing go right for me? **Ever**? _

_If I hide in here long enough, maybe they'll forget I exist?_

 

 

I slide to the floor, sagging in defeat, glaring at my penis in hatred. Instead of wilting under my thunderous look, Old Faithful continues tenting out my loose-fitting shirt, standing at full attention.

I give the offending appendage a quick poke, trying to push it down only to have it rebelliously bob right back up, like an inflatable kiddie punching bag.

I jab at it again, but the damn thing stays jutting out, stiff and proud, relentlessly waggling like it's keeping time for an imaginary orchestra playing the Star Spangled Banner.

 

 

_Can a penis be patriotic?_

_And for the love of antiperspirant, why am I **STILL** hard? I'm not dreaming about sex (almost-sex) anymore, and haven't been for what seems like ages now. _ _Okay, okay... It's worked in the past, think of something gross..._

 

 _Puss-filled ingrown hair bumps..._ – ... _ **Those long,callused fingers buried in my hair, twisting tight against my scalp.**_

 _Seeing someone masticating meat with their mouth open..._ – _... **The hungry look in his eyes as he stalks ever closer.**_

 _Cleaning a blackened toilet bowel with a mildew covered toilet brush..._ – ... ** _The brush of hardened muscle against bare ass cheeks._**

 _Tarter buildup..._ – ... _ **Gleaming white canines dragging over my pulse.**_

  _Pit stains... – ... **Straining against his hold, but he's so much stronger. He could force me to do anything he wants...**_

 

Nope. 

This isn't working...

Now I'm even failing at disgusting myself... How is that even possible? 

 

_GO AWAY!_

 

I look around the cabin helplessly, desperate for a distraction.

It's less furnished and charming than it is in the game. Except for the bed, a smallish worn table with a chipped basin resting on top, and weather-beaten planks for walls, it's bare of anything useful or interesting. Honestly, it looks more like a servant’s room, humble and plain, and devoid of personality.

I know I shouldn't gripe, but couldn't they secure better quarters than this? Shouldn't there be a bookshelf and a treasure chest with goodies? A threadbare rug? Something?

It takes living a minimalist lifestyle to a whole new level.

As much as I'd really REALLY like to, I can't ignore the current of electricity running underneath my skin anymore. It's buzzing and bothersome, making me sweat and shiver at the same time. Everything is uncomfortably exciting, from the brush of cloth, soft as a kiss, to the vague tickle of air filtering in and around the old windowpane.

 

_The window! Better distraction!_

 

A roughspun curtain covers a window, overlooking, of all things, the outside latrine. I can’t imagine a **crappier** view.

 

_Ha ha... Drum roll please._

 

It's total shit.  
Literally!

 

_Another drum roll?_

 

 

If you don't count the hours or days I've been unconscious, I've probably been a Haven resident for about forty-five minutes and I already miss modern conveniences. Important things like plumbing and flushing toilets, yoga pants, electricity, and hygiene -all hygiene- even the simple stuff.

 

 

_I need my Germ-X! Do people wash their hands here? There has to be germs and grossness everywhere!_

 

 

Fuck, I'm getting a headache!

A headache to go alongside my tenaciously rampant erection.

I hobble over and sit on the edge of my bed in a huff. Of course, my trampoline bouncing affliction comes along for the ride too. I stare down at it tenting my shirt in a sort of wondering horror. It just won't stop it and I find myself growing morbidly curious...

I carefully slide up my hem. And there it is, hot and huge, the stretch of it, a biting ache once exposed to the chilly air. I hold my breath, surprise crowding my lungs. Long and thick, it's a darker peach than the rest of my skin, almost bronze with the flush of blood under the surface.

It's actually kinda pretty.

 

 

_Should that cheer me up?_

_At least, if I have to have a dick, it's apparently a pretty one?_

 

 

I chuckle to myself, a little hysterically. Yanking my shirt back down, I grab the pillow and cover my hard appendage, trying to smother the life out of it.

Hiding it under the pillow doesn't help at all. If anything, it makes the situation worse, since male bodies really seem to like pressure and warmth. And pretty much EVERYTHING else.

I'm starting to wonder how men ever get out of bed. And why they would even bother.

I shift without thinking, unconsciously trying to get some relief, and end up accidentally pushing my problem more firmly into the pillow. World's **worst** idea. My heart stutters at the unintentional friction, my breath hitching in a gasp of pleasure.

 

Oooooooh god, that feels good.

 

 

_What would sex feel like?_

  
_Bad idea. Don't think about that!_

 

 

  
I shove the pillow away in disgust and stand. I start pacing around the small room so I can think, my bare feet slapping on the wood floor. I take small steps because the room is so compact and walking is... difficult.

How do men manage to walk normally on a regular basis with something taking up so much room down there and changing sizes all the time?

With my penis bobbing and bouncing around, up and down with each step like an overzealous Tigger, I'm starting to think it's time for Old Faithful to be renamed.

 

 

_Besides, it sure fucking feels like a hundred acre wood._

 

 

I know the dream revved me up, but seriously? I haven't popped any blue pulls, so how long should l expect these erections last?

I've never been more aware or more pissed at my own body than I am at this moment. I grab it impatiently and try to push it down by force.

The sensation almost takes me to my knees.

Faithful Tigger leaps in overeager glee, and it actually swells larger.

 

 

_Mother of goat cheese stuffed crabs! That wasn't expected... **Seriously?!?!** It gets **bigger**?_

 

  
I do it again, holding it down this time, trying to ignore how hot at hard it is beneath my hand. As if there's no barrier of cloth at all. At least I'm struggling with this alone... I can't imagine how world-ending awful it would be for Solas to walk in right now.

 

 

_Solas..._

 

 

The flesh under my palm twitches and I swallow hard. I'm running out of other ideas… My mind dips into forbidden waters as my grip gets a little tighter. I'm on the edge of just giving in and jacking off when there's a knock on my door.

Jumping out of my skin in surprise, I snatch my hand back and stare at the door, horrified.

  
Nooooooooooooooooooooo!!!

 

 

_When will I learn? Don't think it! Fate has a sadistic sense of humor..._

 

 

A deep voice filled with ever-present mirth calls through the door. “Loopy? You okay in there? I saw a very pale elf girl running away, and wanted to make sure you hadn't managed to permanently injure yourself the moment you were alone.”

I have a full second of overwhelming relief.

 

 

_Varric._

_THANK YOU for not dragging Solas into this!_

 

 

He bangs on the door with more force. “Loopy?” He sounds less humored and more concerned this time.

Ahhhhhhh. Oh no. Talk about short-lived relief.

“Give me a minute!” I call out a little shrilly.

I look around the bare room frantically, spinning in a circle, my super-helpful dick pointing out nothing useful like an unwanted, cast-covered third arm stuck in traction.

 

 

_Doesn't panic or embarrassment usually help dampen things?_

_Dampen... Wait... There's an idea!_

 

 

I waddle quickly over to the basin, like a pregnant duck with it's tail on fire and really big hemorrhoids. Rolling up my nightgown/night shirt/man-gown/whatever, I tuck it up under my chin.Taking a deep breath, I brace myself and dunk Tigger, testicles and all in the frigid wash basin.

"Uuuuuuuuuccckkk" I scream, a wordless cry of anguish, at the intensity of the pain.

The door crashes open, hitting the wall with a thud. The basin teeters precariously when I bump into the table in my startled clumsiness. I do a half-step lunge for it and miss, adding at least another chip or two in it's shabby patina.

Varric standing there alarm on his face and a wicked looking dagger in his hand. He surveys the room fastidiously like a trained assassin, eyes jumping to all four corners before landing on me.

His jaw drops.

He looks at me. I look at him.

We stare at each other in compete silence as water drips from shriveled man parts onto my toes. My twig and berries finally successfully shrunken down to the size of an actual twig and berries.

I'd be thankful if I wasn't so mortified.

"Accckkkkk" The delayed sound springs from my lips and with the movement of my head, my shirt unrolls like a sleeping bag, dropping back to my lower thighs. My modesty is salvaged a full minute to late.

It looks like he's smothering a smile and holding back laughter as he holsters his dagger. I eye it enviously.

 

 

_Where can I get one of those bad boys? Mama and Baby Bear need replacing. I'm having serious badass dagger envy._

_Now is not the time for that!_

 

 

"Don't you dare laugh." I grind my teeth so hard, a muscle jumps in my cheek. Which is pretty cool, I didn't know it would do that.

My warning did nothing. It apparently fell on deaf ears, or I look just **that** ridiculous. His broad shoulders are starting to shake as he unsuccessfully tries to contain himself.

 

 

_No sir. Don't even think about laughing at this! I'm not in the mood!_

 

 

I glare at him with my balls shriveled up to my navel and say in the most intimidating growly demonish voice I can twist my vocal cords into, "If you let this go now, that'll be the end of it... We will never speak of this again. But, if you don't… I'll look for you. I **will** find you and **WILL** kill you.

 

 

_Oh, that even gave **me** chills! Is it too late to change my name to Liam?_

 

 

His eyes go wide and the smile falls from his lips. "Okay... Okay." He holds his hands up in surrender. "I won't tell a soul, but I believe the better part of the population already got a sneak peak. The rumors are sure to be juicy."

"Well keep a lid on them, little man," I cut in vehemently.

He drops his hands and looks at where my penis is hiding, pointedly. "I'm not sure you should be calling anyone else 'little' right about now."

" **Shut it, Varric!** " I bellow looking around for something to throw at his head. I lunge for the basin on the floor just as he ducks out the door.

"I'll just wait out here until your decent," he calls from outside and throws a bundle of cloth through the doorway.

"Damn dwarves.." I grumble to myself, rubbing my temples in irritation. Stopping to pick up the package of the floor, I unwrap the bundle and groan in disgust.  Normally, I'd be happy to wear something so tight if I had the bosom to make it exciting, but with my cock of wonders ever-ready to stiffen with the smallest provocation, I have anxiety.

Serious anxiety.

Button up jammies made from soft leather, matching boots, and a medium sized rectangle of white linen.

It looks like a large cloth diaper.

From what I remember of watching the Alistair love scene a few dozen times, it functions a lot like a diaper too. Similar to a medieval version of tighty-whities that I haven't the foggiest idea of how to begin wrapping.

 

 

_Where in Thedas do I sign up for Underwear Application 101?_

 

 

I sigh and shuck off the nightshift/shirt, folding it quickly before laying it on the corner of my bed. Wiggling into the new offered attire, I decide to just go commando and tuck the squared linen down the font like a washcloth. At least it'll work as a buffer layer of protection.

Hopefully.

 

  _Note to self:_

  * _Once I'm introduced to Josephine, see about getting some comfort items so I can feel human again. Elf again. Whatever..._
  * _Somehow locate Tiny, make sure she's not permanently traumatized from the unwelcome peepshow, and explain EXTREMELY thoroughly that I'm NOT a rapist._
  * _Morning wood is a serious matter, much graver than I ever realized. I need to figure out a solution if this is going to be a long-term arrangement._
  * _Find some sort of metal lined jock-strap/chastity belt to hold this damn thing down, in the future._
  * Finger-brush your teeth BEFORE dunking your junk!

 




 

I take one last look at my uninviting, barren room before squaring my shoulders and leaving it behind.

 

  _What a way to begin my first day in Haven..._

 


	19. Food for Thought

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey Ballers!! I hope a chapter from me will make your day even more FABULOUS!!
> 
> Thank y'all for the kudos and comments - they're like drops of sunshine amidst boring emails! And the comments help immensely in my creative process.
> 
> A well-deserved huuuuuug for each and every person following this story! 
> 
> <3

 

_Well, it can't get worse than beginning the day by terrifying an innocent girl and turning my way too massive erection into a dong-cicle, right?_

_It just can't. I couldn't take it._

_Pretty please?_

 

 

 _Here goes nothing..._ I head out the door, this time feeling more clothed, less exposed, and a little calmer. Which lasts approximately the length of time it takes for my eyes to fully adjust to the outside light.

Logically, I know that the entire population of Haven was not just hanging around my cottage/cabin waiting for me to leave, but that is EXACTLY what it looks like. Soldiers and townsfolk alike are standing lined up parade-style on both sides of the packed earth pathway.

 

 

_Holy myopic marsupial excrement, that's WAY too many sets of eyeballs on me!!  How are they going to react? Are they angry? Where are the pitchforks? Is there a furious Papa Tiny out the somewhere with sharpened butcher knives?_

_It was 100% unintentional, I swear!_

 

 

 

 _Nope..._ I move to duck and hide, right back inside my safe-ish harbor again, but Varric firmly grabs my elbow.

“Uh-uh, Loopy. Now, now. None of that,” he says with an overly-wide friendly smile, tucking my hand up under his forearm and wrapping my fingers around his bicep. He talks through his teeth like a ventriloquist, low enough so that only I can hear him.  “As a great author once said 'challanges are best met head on', just ignore them and keep moving, you'll be fine.”

“I've never heard that before.” I whisper at him as I hesitantly give in to his non-too-gentle tugs, and we begin our parade march. I have to stifle the urge to sarcastically smile and wave like Miss America - with my middle finger.

 

 

_Let's not antagonize them before I have a chance to do some serious apologizing. I'd rather make Tigger do it since the whole thing is all his damn fault, but he can't speak. Thank the heavens for that, I can't imagine what he'd say if given the opportunity..._

 

 

 

“Well, I just made it up and I'm a great author, so now you have.” He winks and pats my hand. The charming bastard...

I strain my ears to hear snippets of conversations as we pass by. I keep thinking someone's going to mention my horrible social faux pas from this morning... It can't possibly be an every day occurrence for a freaked out female to be seen leaving/fleeing, or being chased by an elf with full frontal Tigger Tail. At least, I sincerely hope not. And if I find out that THAT IS the case, I'm going to be changing some shit around here RIGHT AWAY!

I cringe inwardly, just remembering.

 

 

_I really need to find Tiny._

 

 

So far the comments have all been similar and uninteresting. Mainly people marveling at my heroic deed, doing the impossible, sealing rifts with Sir Fungus. That is, until I notice two middle-aged human ladies, one of them pointing at me with a trembling hand.

“That's him!”

 

_Oh God of metal studded mutton chops! What are they going to say? What are they going to do?_

 

"When he was led though before, I didn't notice how _attractive_ he was." 

 

_Wait..._

 

The other woman nods enthusiastically. "Oh you mean when he was tied up as a prisoner? I know! I didn't realize either!"

The first one eyes me up and down appraisingly, gnawing on her lower lip. "You think he'd let us tie him up too?"

 

_What the **FUCK**? Seriously? You offensive bitches!!!!_

 

Varric's grip on my trapped hand tightens as I turn my head, my tongue is instantly razor-sharp and ready with a scathing retort. Before I get the chance, I see a taller than average man glaring murderously at the two ridiculous hoe-bags.

"Hush your prattle and have some respect! That's the Herald of Andraste you're thoughtlessly gossiping about. He the one who stopped the Breach from getting any bigger.”

Prattle? Who talks that way? 

Rather than lecture further, he steps around in front of them, blocking their view. They whine in protest, but I really don't give two poops and a screw. He was much nicer in his reprimand than the words that are still itching to fly out of my mouth.

 

 

_Don't… Don't do it.…_

 

 

I grit my teeth and nod my thanks to the man, he bows his head and looks a little uncomfortable by my attention. I'm both relieved and deflated that I didn't get the chance to put those audacious females in their place and stand up for myself, but I don't have time to dwell because Varric keeps us moving forward.

He deftly winds us through and around the fleshy blockades.They're standing clustered in the way of other areas, hanging out like they have nothing better to do- just like in the game. Now that I'm actually here, I could push them aside or mow them over like the irritating weeds that they are, but that seems really impolite when most of them are saluting or gazing at me like I'm a movie star.

 

 

_And lusting after me apparently... That is NOT the reaction I was expecting._

_Throwing stones, might be a heavy-handed punishment, but not even a slap on the wrist? Shouldn't **someone** be concerned about what went down? Even though it happened to me and I know the details, they **don't** and it looked **bad**._

_Are elves that overlooked?_

 

 

I tune out the comments and whispers until they fade into just background noise. I'm no longer curious about what the random population has to say about me. My blood is simmering on low, I hope I'm just jumping to conclusions…

We make it all the way to Seggrit's cart and I stop, deciding to check out if he has anything I can use while we're right here. Some retail therapy could work wonders as a distraction right about now. 

Before I can open my mouth to ask about his wares, he states flatly, "I believe seeker Cassandra would like to speak with you."

 

 

_Yes, I'm aware of that, you horrible excuse for a salesman. I'm not sure I want to speak with her now, or maybe ever. I'm not convinced that I should help an organization that ignores something I consider a serious matter._

_I can't say that though, even if I want to. At least not to him._

 

Instead, I just sigh and roll my eyes, letting Varric pull me away and up the snow lined stairs. I can see the top of the Chantry building off in the distance, beyond a stone wall and other buildings.

Haven is honestly much larger in person than I expected, with rows of small tents lining that wall, not just a few. And more buildings in multiple sizes than I can remember. Granted, I'll admit to not paying too close of attention to that kind of detail while playing.

We're passing by the door of one such building when a heavenly smell invades my nostrils, like an army of tasty, tasty ants. The wafting smells almost make me pass out.

 

 

_So good - like a backyard barbeque and a fresh bakery rolled into one._

 

 

My stomach is already out of my throat and two steps ahead,  grumbling and rumbling in a language of it's own.

I tug on Varric's arm attempting to lead him into the delicious smelling building, but he tugs right back, with equal force on mine.

“You heard the man, Loopy. The Seeker is waiting”

"And she can continue waiting... This morning my breakfast ended up on the floor in miserable failure and I haven't eaten anything in **days**. You don't want me hangry Varric, you wouldn't like me when I'm hangry. Trust me, it's not a pretty sight!"

He stops his insistant tugging a moment and considers my words. I can tell that he's weighing his options by the expressions flashing across his face. 

“Alright... But one of these days, you're gonna have to tell me the _whole_ story of this morning.” He grumbles but he relents, allowing me to drag him though the doorway.

I bare my teeth, caught between a smile and a grimace. “For _that,_ we'll need to be close friends or I'll need to be really REALLY drunk.”

"We can work on both, Loopy," he says, giving me a little shove as we enter a building that's almost completely deserted.

 

 

_Shitballs on rocking chairs! So, everyone really **was** out there just waiting on me? Okay, that's not a productive use of time... And really freaking weird._

 

 

The tavern reminds me of a few of the honky tonk dive bars I've been to on my socially active nights. All it needs is a jukebox and a mechanical bull to enhance the seedy ambiance. I automatically think about volunteering to teach the minstrel some country music to go with the atmosphere, but I only know the chorus to about four songs.

 

 

_No really - I'm mentally allergic to country music._

 

 

_Note to self:_

  * Once we meet Iron Bull, invent a drinking gaming called Ride the Bull, he won't be able to resist.
  * Get it? Iron bull/mechanical bull...
  * He might take that as flirting, but it'd be worth it.
  * Definitely worth it. We are talking serious FUN!



 

 

This place is not what I was expecting... I don't know what I was expecting from a medieval tavern honestly, but as long as there's food and alcohol here, I'm gravy.

 

 

_Speaking of gravy, I'm way overdue for greasy artery-clogging awesomeness and the empty calories of an adult beverage._

 

 

Varric makes his way to the older burly man behind the counter while I head to one of the empty tables. He joins me just as I'm making myself comfortable, sitting down in the empty seat across from me.

He drums his fingertips on the table absentmindedly while we wait in silence for the food, like he can't stand quiet for any the length of time. I'm the opposite, sometimes I'd rather be alone and rest than engage with people. Plus, I've found the less I talk here, the less likely I am to make an moron of myself. That is, unless Tigger Terrible's involved... Enough has happened that I'm already feeling drained and it's not even noon yet.

 

 

_Or is it? Damn it, I have no idea what time it is._

 

 

“How are you holding up?” He the first one to break, segwaying into conversion with easygoing ease.

I let out a breath slowly. “I'm barely treading water... All this, everything **here** , it's all just too much..." I make a grandiose sweeping gesture with my mean green fungus hand. "Everyone is acting strange as fuck and expecting miracles from me when I don't know my asshole from... well, a giant swirling green asshole!"

“I know this must be... difficult..." He shifts his weight in his seat before looking at me again. "I can't imagine the pressure that you're under. Hell, I'm glad I'm not in your boots!" The corner of mouth turns up in a lopsided smile. "But you've made it this far Loopy, and that's something.”

I huff in disagreement. “Only barely, and you know it.”

He waves off my response with the back of his hand and gazes at me with somber pride. “Bullshit. You took down that Pride demon, no easy task. 'The battered and bloody hero fearlessly fighting until glorious victory', that was an unforgettable sight I'm definitely putting in my book.”

“You're book? The fuck, you say? I don't want...--” I'm interrupted by a heaping platter of food being set gently down in front of me.

“Here you go, Herald,” says the waitress with a saucy flip of her curly blonde hair. She winks and saunters off only to return moments later with two foamy tankards.

 

_I guess it's not that unusual to start your day with a beer here. That's not something I do regularly. Thedas livers must be made of tough stuff. Maybe even tougher than getting perfectly matched cat-eye liner on the first try... Wow._

 

Leaning down low enough that her ample chest puts her blouse in a precarious position, she sets the ale carefully down next to the plate. She pauses, lingering as if waiting for a favorable reaction from me.

Honestly, I'm more distracted by the food than her breasts, but they really are shapely. She should be proud.

 

Wait... Is she making a pass at me too? Oh Lordy, what has gotten into these people? Do they all have a fungus kink? 

 

 

_Note to self:_

  * _I'm really confused here..._
  * _Find out if there's something in the water making the women extra slut--... uh... overly forward._
  * _Or is it because I'm something new and shiny, so therefore I'm automatically more interesting?_
  * _How do I turn her down without offending her?_



 

 

She's human, she's cute, she even has darling dimples, but unfortunately for this body, I know exactly what not only rings my bell but polishes it to a mirror finish. And that person is probably off somewhere standing barefoot in snow and pondering something deeply meaningful and Fade related.

Varric clears his throat with a loud bark and she jumps a little in response, smoothly turning the movement into a small bobbing curtsy and leaves our table without saying anything else.

He leans back and looks at me with raised eyebrows. “You seem pretty popular with the ladies, Loopy.”

I drop my gaze to my plate, eyeing the food with more concentration than necessary. “Yeah... that's... just dandy.” I stab the slab of red meat with frustrated force. I'm unsure what kind meat it is, but it definitely smells gamey.

 

 

_Poor creature who was destined to become my shit, I applaud you for accepting your fate with tasty grace._

 

 

I'm opening my mouth to take the first bite of food I've had in an eternity...

“Excuse me? Sir?”

I turn with a rabid snarl, my fork poised and ready to stab the unfortunate person with the hesitant, timid voice daring to interrupt my feast.

Varric stands quickly, almost knocking over his chair in his hurry. Reaching over, he pats my forearm and disarms the impromptu weapon I'm brandishing in one motion. "Don't worry Loopy, I'll handle this. Enjoy your food," he says consolingly, already turning to make our uninvited guest disappear with his word magic.

 

 

_That man is the best buffer a girl could ask for! If only I had a pocket-sized Varric to carry around with me at all times._

 

 

While he steps away to deal quietly with Mr. Interruption, I tear into my breakfast/lunch/brunch (Really, what time is it anyway?) like a starving orphan trying pizza for the first time. I swallow the chunk of cheese and crusty, glistening bread almost whole, in my hurry to fill my empty belly.

I scarf and snarf until I'm halfway through my heaping plate, slowing down a little when I realize that Varric has things under control and I'm not going to be bothered further. Leaning back in my chair, I lick the butter from my lips and fingers, and allow my stomach more space to expand while I listen to the muted strumming of the minstrel and enjoy the brief moment of solitude.

For the first time I notice that my hands are completely clean and unblemished. I push up the sleeves of my leather jammies in curiosity, my arms are clean and booboo free as well.

 

 

_Not overly sanitary to check that **after** eating._

 

 

All that's left marring the skin is my fungus hand, and even that seems to have settled down. The lime green has deepened to a dark almost-black emerald. Feathering out from my hand, up my wrist, like a dull metallic tribal tattoo given by a half-blind elliptic with three fingers and a paintbrush from a bargain bin.

All the abuse that my batter body suffered has magically disappeared.

 

 

_Huh. Magically..._

_As if someone healed me in my sleep._

_No, not a random healer someone, I bet all the leather in Thedas that it was an elf apostate someone..._

 

 

Solas healed me?  
Like intimately touching me while I slept?  
While I had dreams of him intimately touching me?  
Is that a coincidence? Could it have been really him?

No way! He was too at ease with an entirely foreign environment. They don't even have zippers here.…

 

 

_I would have noticed. Right?_

 

My food suddenly tastes like sawdust.

The thought of him even pulling a blanket over me while I slept makes acid coil deep in my gut. And the thought of his hands on my bare skin is almost more than I can handle. I had A LOT of injuries in various clothing-hidden places…

My legs are moving before my brain has even decided to look for him. I pass a surprised Varric on my way out of the door.

“Where are you--”

I keep walking past, my feet taking me automatically on a path I've tread many times before in the game. I might have to stop and think a minute to remember where my lodgings are, but Solas' hangout spot in Haven? Yeah, no-brainer.

 

 

_So what does that say about me?_

_Hush. I don't want to peel back my painful layers and delve into my inner-self at the moment. I'll wait until later for my deep peaceful reflection, thank you._

 

 

I pass people, a blur that I don't really see and voices that don't register, until I see the man I'm looking for. There's an inconvenient barrier of townsfolk clustering on the stairs, so I stop before the wall and tilt my chin to look up at him.

Solas is sitting budda-style, meditating on snow covered rocks without a care, completely unconcerned about freezing his ass off with the icy white powder.

Does anything shake his unflappable calm?

 

 

_'Well, there was that time when he bit you...' a tiny voice in the back of my mind pipes up._

_Shut it! I don't know if that was real and I don't want to go there right now! I'd appreciate being able to talk to him like a coherent adult instead of a babbling fool or a lusty teenager._

 

“Solas!”

He opens his eyes and looks down at me, both eyebrows raised enough in surprise to crinkle his forehead. "The Chosen of Andraste, a blessed hero sent to save is all..." He gives me a half-smile in greeting.

"Ha! That's rich! Am I riding in on a dragon?" I can't help but smile back at the absurdity of that sentence. _Anyone_  would be a better hero than I, and Fate would rather gleefully shove pinecones up my pooper than bless me.

 

 

_Right, Fate? I know you're listening!_

 

 

His smile pulls a bit wider, changing the serious set of his expression into something more welcoming. "I would have suggested a griffon, but sadly they are extinct. Joke as you will, posturing is necessary."

I smother my smile before it turns into a full grin. "I'm not joking. I really do want to ride on a mother fucking dragon! But I'm not here to talk about dragons or griffons."

“In that case, you have my attention. What did you wish to discuss?” He hasn't moved a muscle, but I still get the impression that I have the entire weight of his full focus.

It's a bit staggering.

 

 

_No. You came here for answers. Don't be intimidated._

 

 

“Did you heal me? ” The question pops out from slightly numb lips. Aggravated, collect myself quickly with a breath and plant my hands firmly on my hips.

His eyebrows raise again, even higher this time. “I was under the impression that Lady Cassandra is waiting to speak to you.”

“Yeah, yeah, so I've heard and yet I'm standing here anyway. Now, answer my question.” I demand, locking my knees and keeping my spine straight as an arrow.

His brows come back down and his eyes narrow, giving me a puzzled look as if he doesn't know where I'm going with this. “Of course I did, you were close to death.”

 

 

_Did you bathe me too?_

_The words are on the tip of my tongue. I'm dying to ask, but I'm unsure if I truly want to know. No, that's not right... I do want to know, I'm just not sure if I can handle the answer._

 

 

“Is that a _problem_?" He continues when I don't say anything, his voice taking on a challenging edge. "Should I have let you die in my arms instead, while the others searched for a different healer?” 

I'm taken aback by the confrontation. Isn't he supposed to be a meek and mild type? “No...Of course not.”

“Then why are you here questioning me, when you are needed elsewhere?” He stands, balancing on the rock without even a single wobble.

“Uh…”

 

 

_Think. THINK.  Come up with anything besides admitting to the annoying desire to see and talk to him at every available opportunity._

 

 

He jumps from the wall without warning and lands on the balls of his feet like he weighs nothing, a few feet in font of me. Every time I'm close to him, I have the same wrenching reaction, and I have to stop myself from impulsively taking a step back.

He easily has the grace of a professional athlete, and as damn flexible as an acrobat from Cirque de Soleil.

I can't stop staring.

The swirling storm of indigo in his eyes, that beautifully defined jaw, the glossy shine of that hardboiled egg-head...

I know I have to stop. **Need** to stop.

 

 

_Good Lord of Listerine, for the love of dino-shaped nuggets…_

_Hydrologic hippos with hot pink toes..._

_Slinky straws and mud-covered paws..._

 

_What is he **wearing**?_

 

 

It's simple and plain, a shirt and breeches, but the tight cloth clings to… every…single… perfectly… curved...

 

_I think I just licked my lips._

 

_ Note to self: _

  * _Bring in the bloodhounds and find that frumpy hobo sweater. Mend it, clean it, whatever it needs - IMMEDIATELY._
  * _Break into his cottage if necessary._
  * _If said sweater is not there, take up knitting._
  * _Make it a double XL, maybe make two or twenty and have him layer them. For added protection for both of us, and my sanity._



 

There's a stirring in my nether regions and I want to strangle Tigger with my bare hands. And _definitely_ not in the lovely, pleasurable way.

 

_Goddamn dick._

 

On my walk over I rehearsed many different versions of what I would say to Solas once I saw him. Ask about the healing, ask about the dream, find out more about the Fade, ancient ruins and battlefields - you know, stuff like that.

None of the versions included gaping and gasping at him while I fake hyperventilate, hunching forward as I 'struggle to catch my breath'. 

Yet, that's exactly what's happening.

I lean over, bracing my hands on my knees, pretending to be dizzy. Looking at his toes in the snow helps clear my head. I count them, one at a time until I reach ten, and then back again. After I succeed in doing that a couple times, everything is back smooth and flat.

“Herald, Are you unwell?”

 

_No, you stupid sexy buffoon! You million year old geriatric jackass! Every single time I have the hopes that I've finally mastered my hormonal impulses, you raise the bar again!_

 

“I'm fine. Just a momentary...” My words trail off as I straighten and notice him reaching out to touch me in concern. I dodge easily, but my eyes get caught on him.

Again.

 

 

_NUT FUCKER. I am so fucking hosed. Couldn't he have chosen to wear something/anything else? Can my eyeballs **not** be directly connected to my vagina/penis? Can I please get over this inconvenient attraction/obsession any time soon? _

 

 

I'm close enough to see the subtle shift of sleek, toned muscle when he moves. Oh boy, this is bad. I can see the ripples when he moves.

I sink my teeth into my bottom lip. Hard.

His eyes dip down, reflexively.

‘’I wish I had some alcohol, I need a cocktail!” I blurt desperately, my voice sounds a little choked and I clear my throat to cover it. 

 

 

_I just **had** to use a word with cock in it._

_…........mmmmm.........._

_And, of course, now I'm back full circle and thinking of his_ _cock. Stop it. Stop it now. Like right the hell NOW._

 

 

“I aim to please, Loopy,” calls a deeply amused voice from behind me.

I turn to see Varric strolling up the path about ten feet back, I wish I could hug him breathless once he reaches us. Noticing the grateful look on my face, he winks. Flashing his full charming smile, he pulls a flask out of his open jacket and hands it over.

I grasp at it with both hands, like it's the last donut with sprinkles in the universe. Once I've had a few burning gulps, I feel remarkably better.

 

 

_Thedas is going to turn me into a raging alcoholic._

 

 

 

Solas glances between us, frowning disapprovingly. His mouth opens like he's going to say something, but he doesn't. I open my mouth to say something and change my mind, taking another swig from the flask instead. 

After a moment of observation back and forth at the both of us, two uncomfortably mute elves, Varric chimes in with a chuckle, "It almost physically pains me to say this because you guys are the best entertainment in this place, but we probably should be going, Loopy. The Seeker will be roasting both of our asses over the nearest bonfire, if we delay any longer."

I nod rapidly in enthusiastic acceptance and allow him to lead me away. I take one last peek over my shoulder before we turn the corner and see Solas watching us leave, pulling on the cuffs of his shirt and shaking his head slightly.

 

 

_If only I had superpowers... I'd love to know what he's thinking._

 

 

The Chantry building is relatively close by, which is a blessing. Varric escorts me all the way to the large double doors. I'm in the middle of handing him back his flask when one of the doors bangs open and out steps Chancellor Roderick.

The look of disdain he gives me pretty impressive, like he just found a extra lumpy dog turd in the bread box.

“Don't strain your face with all that repressed opinion,” I snark, giving him my very best shark-tooth fakey-fake smile.

He ignores me with a sniff and elbows past us.

Varric places the flask gently back in my hands and curls my fingers around the edges. “I think you should keep this. It looks like you'll need it more than I will. Good luck, Loopy, and remember that challanges are...”

“Best met head on. Yeah, yeah gotcha. Thanks Varric.” I interrupt with a begrudging smirk, tucking the flask in my waistband at the small of my back.

With once last wave, he leaves me to walk the rest of the way alone.

 

 

_Alright, let's get this over with._

 

 

The Grand Chantry Cathedral is very... well… grand. The ornate cavernous room reminds me of the couple of times that I attended a Catholic mass, except all the pews have been pushed off to the side to make room for extra non-clergy guests.

I don't stop to gawk or rummage through anything.  I'm a little torn, but with all the robed folks hanging around, I don't believe that would go over very well. So, I move right on by and open the door to the war room at the end.

Conversation consisting mostly of raised voices cuts off abruptly at my entrance.

“You're **late**.” Cassandra turns to me looking aggravated.

 

 

_I'm not **that** late, am I?_

 

 

Sure enough, on the massive, heavy duty table in the exact center of the room sits a large, thick book with the Inquisition symbol on it.

 

 

_Ohhhhhh. Oops. Missed a cutscene starring Old Sock being a smelly, yell-y nuisance._

_Darn._

Ooooooooohhh there's an idea

 

_ Note to self: _

  * _Start a Punch and Judy style puppet theater, with sock puppets._
  * _The Chancellor can finally be the star he wants to be and the kids will love it!_
  * _There **are** kids here, right? _



 

I open my mouth to make up an excuse for my tardiness, but Cassandra cuts me off before I can say a word. “You’ve met Commander Cullen, leader of the Inquisition’s forces.”

 

_Have I ever... Ahem._

 

The blonde beefcake gives me a slight bow and avoids my gaze. “It was only for a moment on the field. I’m… _pleased_ … you survived.”

 

_Awwwwwee, Sugar Cookie, you wound me… Why the hesitation? No extra cinnamon sprinkle for you!_

 

Cassandra, either not noticing anything unusual or ignoring his sarcasm, continues the introductions. “This is Lady Josephine Montilyet, our ambassador and chief diplomat.”

A beautiful woman with black hair and radiant, toffee-colored skin drops into a deep curtsy, low enough that her shiny gold dress puddles on the floor.

“Andaran Atish'an,” she says with very careful concentration as she straightens.

I smile at her enthusiastically, wanting to clap but holding back the urge. “That was very well done! You speak elven?”

“Thank you! I practiced quite a lot, but you’ve just heard the entirety of it, I’m afraid.” Josephine smiles apologetically.

“Practice makes perfect.” I wink at her with a grin. “Maybe I'll teach you more another time.”

 

 

_I'd have to learn more myself first..._

_Could I survive a language lesson with Solas?_

 

 

"I'd like that! You know, I didn't know what to expect, but you’re even more… charming than I heard.” She clutches her medieval clipboard a little tighter, making the candle bobble slightly.

 

_Charming? Me? Bullshit… Really?_

 

“That's _one_ way to say it.” Cullen grumbles, too loudly for everyone not to hear it.

I wrinkle my nose and stick my tongue out at him. He ignores me. 

 

_Looks like someone mistook salt for sugar, in the cookie dusting department._

 

Cassandra snorts and clears her throat, getting my attention again. “And of course you know Sister Leliana, our spymaster.”

Leliana stops what she was going to say, pausing with a irritated look on her face. “Yes. Tactfully put, Cassandra.”

All four of them wait silently for a minute.

“Uh… Hi?” I greet my advisors with supreme confidence.

 

 

_Seems like a good enough place to begin..._

 

 

 


	20. Poly•armor-less

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sunday Funday!!! Here's your next chapter! 
> 
> Let me know watcha think <3

  
Minutes flow into each other in an endless river of time, as I twist the lumpy shape in my hands over and over, idly swinging my legs back and forth. I brainstorm my internal library of fairy tales, inventing an elaborate backstory for Mr. Lumps-a-lot as I playfully gallop him down my thigh, only half-listening to the voices carrying on around me like the dull din of a crowded restaurant.

Should he be a hero with a wobbly hobble or a vicious villain? Who will reign supreme?

 

_Note to self:_

  * Have Blackwall whittle new place markers once he's assimilated into the Inquisition family.
  * I know that it was probably a hurried commission, but the one they've chosen for me looks like Jabba the Hut.
  * I hope that's not a realistic portrayal...



 

"I'm sorry Herald, are we boring you?" Commander Crankypants irritated words cut into my art appreciation/creative monologue time, like a rude, inconsiderate asshole changing lanes without signaling.

 

 

_YES!_

 

 

“No, of course not, Sugar! I'm absolutely paying attention,” I lie through my teeth and set down the ugly figurine, tempted to do some Godzilla crashing to the other unfortunate pieces while I'm at it. 

I smirk a little when he visibly flinches at the nickname, storm clouds gathering as he gives me that elevator look of his. Honey eyeballs promising a painful death, moving from my bouncing legs to my fiddling fingers, and finding me lacking.

 

 

_Do it Sugarpuff! Electrify me with amber lightning bolts and end this mind-numbing boredom once and for all… Before I decide to quit the Inquisition, the same day that I joined. I'm an official member, for now at least._

 

 

Despite my confliction about it, I've always had the philosophy: If I'm not satisfied with something, don't just complain about it, change it. If elves really are treated as unfairly as it seems so far, the best way to help is at the top of the food chain.

 

 

_I just didn't realize that 'helping' included setting up the fucking war table board with King OCD over there. Talk about loooooong tedious work!_

_And I had no idea there would be so many damn papers to sign! It feels like I'm buying a house, not reluctantly beginning an adventure._

_And then came the verbal strategizing... I think my brain started snoozing after the first argument. I have never been so bored, even the ever-energetic Tigger is taking a cat nap._

 

 

He clears his throat, looking as grim as plain-jane steel-cut oatmeal with none of the yummy extras. “Anyway, as I was saying… For reasons she has chosen not to share, Lady Cassandra has refused to train you."

_What?_

I look over at the woman with big Precious Moments eyes. I'm _hurt_. What reasons? Why doesn't she want to spend more time with me? I thought we were becoming friends, or at least friendly...

She avoids my gaze, looking away in discomfort and almost ducking her head in shame. But she offers no explanation for her decision. 

Cullen watches our nonverbal exchange impassively and then continues, "Since your survival is linked directly with ours and everyone in Thedas, I have decided to oversee your training personally."

 

 

_Wow... Yeah, no. Nope. No thanks, Surly Curly._

 

 

I eye the hulking breadth of his shoulders under the well-used steel armor, and the larger than life vein-popping man-hands. “I don't think that's a good idea,” I say hesitantly.

“ _I don't think_ you have much of a choice, **if you want to stay alive**.” He growls and glowers, resting one of those big hands on the hilt of his sword, when I don't enthusiastically accept his offer.

Captain Butt-hurt may be aggravated that I don't leap for joy at the thought of going toe to toe with him, but it only seems sensible to me. Lardballs and laundry soap, even without his furry mantle, he's almost twice my size!

In a nutshell, the best word to describe the man is _formidable_ , he should tattoo it on one of those gallon-sized milk jugs he calls biceps. I'd pay good money to see that, if I had any money... Hey, where did my boot coins go? 

 

 

**Wait... Was that a threat?????**

>  
> 
> Fucking hell, I can't tell.
> 
> When in panic, my breathing is frantic.
> 
> Don't you _dare_ faint, you're supposed to be a saint.
> 
> Should I just leave? Dodge and weave the hand itching and twitching to cleave.
> 
> Try not to whine, stiffen your damn spine.
> 
> Find some pliers, and extract those inner fires.
> 
> What a bummer, I might need a plunger.
> 
> Easy to be a coward, when I'd rather be empowered.
> 
> I must make an interesting sight, with my asshole puckered tight.
> 
> My bravery is feeling skimpy, my tank is running on empty.
> 
> Ignore his glare, they're not all that rare.
> 
> He's sugar on demand, somewhere under that command.
> 
> It seems like Cookie, needs some nookie.
> 
> He's such a looker, no need for a hooker...

 

_Oh geez, I'm full of cheese… Is this a thing? Do I start rhyming automatically when I'm under pressure, now?_

 

 

My eyes are as wide as dinner plates and I swallow reflexively, reaching into my waistband for Varric's flask. _How did that crafty dwarf know I'd need it?_ The sip of liquid courage goes down smoothly, and settles comfortably in my belly, warmed by my body heat.

“What Cullen is trying to say is that your safety is important to us, and he is the best man, or woman, available to teach you how to survive.” Josephine the diplomatic diva, lives up to her title. She holds out a hand in Cullen's direction, palm forward, to encourage him to back off. 

“Isn't that what I said?” Crankypants asks the question anyway, in a tone that no one dares to answer.

There's a heartbeat of uncomfortable silence that no person currently in the room seems in a hurry to break. 

“ _Fine_. Now that we've settled the matter, we can move on to...” Cullen rubs his forehead with a tired sigh and shuffles some papers in a towering stack.

I haven't had the right opportunity to bring up my concerns, and now seems like the first decent time. But after taking a look at the slumped strain of his shoulders and the pinched line of his mouth, I rethink it. Maybe countless hours into Advisor Meeting #1 isn't the best time to mention my dissatisfaction with this fledgling institution and question the treatment of an entire race.

 

 

_Honestly, he looks ready to drop any moment. I don't think he's sat down once this entire time. Doesn't the man ever stop working, or even take a break? It looks like the workaholic could use a vacation even more than I._

 

 

I remember conversations and cutscenes about his lyrium withdrawals in the game, and they're serious shit. I don't have a clue where he is in the process of kicking the addiction, but exhausting his body doesn't seem like an excellent plan.

I need to draw the line since it doesn't seem like he's going to.

 

 

_Plus, if I have to read another paper that I only half understand, I'm gonna start a competitive game of wadded paper basketball into the nearest trash can. And his sword will **defiantly**  leave it's scabbard if I crumple his precious papers. _

 

 

“Actually, Commander...”

He tenses at the sound of my voice, his hand reflexively tightening on the hilt at his hip.

I ignore his reaction and continue, reasonably confident that he won't actually harm me for just speaking up with an innocent suggestion, at least not with an audience of witnesses (one of whom also carries a sword). “It's been a REALLY tiring day and I think we've all been in this room long enough. Why don't we continue this another time?”

There's another uncomfortable silence following my words. He looks around the room, acknowledging the wordless nods of the other advisors. Finally, he sighs again and lets go of the sword completely to run his hand through his golden waves.

“I hate to admit it but the Herald has a point, we can go through the rest of this later.” Dropping his hand he spears me with a look. “ **You.** ”

I jump, startled at the abruptness of his full attention.

“I'll see **you**  tomorrow at the training grounds, one hour past dawn.”

 

 

_Tomorrow?!? Already? I just got here, I haven't even had a tour of the place._

 

 

I gulp loudly. To still my nervously twisting fingers, I find myself reaching for the flask again only to find it empty. _Damn_ … “But--”

“Don't be late. You'll be there if I have to come drag you from bed, **personally.** ” He threatens, talking right over me.

There's a brief, awful second where I imagine Cullen coming face to face with my Tigger Tower of Terror and shudder in horror.

I nod quickly.

 

 

_That would be... a truly terrible moment…_

 

 

Everyone vacates, sufficiently satisfied that the longer than advertised meeting has finally come to a end. After I wait for the others to leave, I step over and tap Josephine lightly to get her attention before she can escape too.

She looks surprised to still see me here. “Yes,  Herald? Did you need something?”

Ugh... That title is already staying to chafe my chaps, it's getting old - fast. I feel like they're addressing a D&D nerd-boy named Harold who lives in his mother's basement, not me. “ _Please_ call me Lucy, there's no need to be so formal, I'd rather us be friends.”

She smiles and nods. “Of course, Lucy. What can I do for you? ”

I give her an answering smile in gratitude. “Thank you! Now, I wanted to see about what we can do to make my lodgings more welcoming...”

Josephine and I spend the next half-hour throwing ideas around and scribbling like mad. By the time I finally extract myself from our impromptu mini-requisitions talk of wanted/needed goods, it's nighttime.

 

 

_The whole day? I was in there the whole day? I know the meeting seemed long-winded, but that's awful!_

 

 

I lean against the door frame and watch the soldiers lighting torches and the town's people milling about in various forms of activity. Most of them look like their walking with a purpose, so I nudge myself from my reclined position with my foot and quietly try and make my way through the crowd unnoticed.

Flinching at the first cry of:

 

“There he is!”

“It's the Herald!”

 

 

Note to Self:

  * Buy an Assassin's Creed hood. ASAP.
  * Maybe steal a Chantry gown? Where do they keep extras?



 

 

I start the direction of my Safe-ish House at a fast pace, doing my best to lose my clingy flesh magnets without it being overly obvious that's precisely what I'm trying to do. The annoying fungus fans follow me like we're playing a rousing game of follow the leader. I can't successfully shake them politely, so I duck into one of the latrines to get away. 

 

 

_What has my life become? Hiding in the toilet like a depressed teenager escaping some mean girls._

 

 

Crossing my fingers that I don't get splinters in my ass cheeks, I do my business with a small amount of distaste. After I finish, I hum a few classic rock tunes under my breath and twiddle my thumbs for as long as I can stand, before peeking out of the door. No one is waiting outside. 

I guess enough time has passed for everyone to have forgotten their earlier interest in pestering me.

 

_I thought that only worked in horror video games… But I'm glad to be wrong._

 

I pass Solas' hang out spot in my decision to take the roads less traveled (and that made all the difference). He's not outside anymore and that makes me wonder if he's retired for the night. I wonder what he's doing...

 

_What does an ancient elf god do to get ready for bed? Does he spend time buffing his bald head to a high gloss shine to better reflect the morning sunlight?_

_Mmmmmm... What about the other bald head? Does he spend time buffing that too? I wonder what kind of face he makes when he..._

 

 

Loki and Little Tikes! I need to stop torturing myself with masturbation fantasies! It's not like I'm going to sneak over and peek in his windows, nope I'm not. Nope. He probably wards his whole cottage with a mystical Fade-Cerberus that will swallow me whole. 

 

 

_Mmmmmmmm... Swallow..._

_Zip it before you rip it! These pants are a poor containment cage for Tigger and you know it, so move on._

 

 

I reach the area of small houses were my lodgings are located without further incident. Unfortunately, it's not late enough in the evening to be bedtime apparently since there's an inordinate amount of potentially amorous ladies talking to each other near my front door.

 

 

_Is this what being a celebrity is like? Why would anyone want this? I just want to be left alone for awhile..._

 

 

Making an abrupt about-face before any of them see me, I wander around aimlessly, more concerned with my continued avoidance of people than where I'm actually headed. That's how I find myself in the mostly deserted training grounds.

 

 

_That's actually a good idea Fumble Feet, great work!_

 

 

The frozen lake is probably the most peaceful location I can find in this place. With everything that's happened, I desperately desire a chance to organize and process the whirlwind of disjointed thoughts rattling around in my brain.  

"Such a sweet little rabbit," intrudes a male voice from beyond the tents.

 

 

_Are you fucking kidding me? I've been alone for what, ten or fifteen minutes? I knew it was too good to be true… Just ignore him..._

 

 

"Please leave me alone." A second higher voice, I didn't expect, answers him.

 

 

_Oh, he's not talking to me... Good._

 

 

"Now, why would I do a thing like that? You're out here all alone, shivering with cold. Don't worry Sweet Thing, I'll warm you right up. His voice sounds warm already - in a super _creepy_ way.

Ugh!! Could the he get any ooier? Quiet reflection at the lake can wait, it's not likely to unfreeze an time soon. I'm changing directions and heading toward the voices without a second thought. I'm not leaving Creeper alone to prey on someone, not on my watch. 

Speaking of watches, shouldn't there be guards around to prevent this sort of thing? 

"Please s-sir, the Herald s-sent for me. 'At once' he s-said." The words waver with stutters. 

 

 

_That voice is definitely female and sounds eerily familiar..._

 

 

“I'm the H-herald's p-property s-s-so you s-s-should leave me a-alone or h-h-he'll be a-angry!”

 

_No way! That's **TINY**! _

 

My eyes widen in shock. I'm hurrying now, my footsteps making a trail of prints in the snow behind me.

 

_Hold on Tiny! I'm not letting you be traumatized twice in one day!_

 

"You think I'm scared of that dainty little white-haired _pussy_?" The odious man scoffs. I can see the outline of Inquisition armor, getting close enough to see the soldier's back and shoulders shake in laughter. "I'm sure he spread that rumor about his big prick himself just so he'd have all the slits weeping over him. Pathetic!"

 

 

_Well, that answers my question about where the guards are..._

 

 

I'm quieter than I've ever been, sneaking right behind him. There's the unmistakable clink of a metal buckle. 

"You want a big dick, I'll show you a big dick. You won't be wanting that…"

“I _dare_  you to. **Finish. That. Sentence,** ” I interrupt. It comes out a guttural snarl, my lips feeling tight as I bare my teeth. I crack my knuckles with each pause and then clench my hands into fists at my sides.

He whips around faster than a Kitchenaid mixer, eyes darting between my hands and my face in harried panic. I'm not sure what he sees, but whatever it is, he looks terrified. “Herald! I... this is a misunderstanding! I thought the bitch was lying! I didn't know that she really did belong to you!”

 

 

_I think a blood vessel just burst in my brain._

 

 

I want to beat him to a bloody pulp. I want to pull the appendage he's so proud of, right off his body and shove it down his offensive throat. I want to douse him in water and stick him to the frozen lake to chill out, to death.

 

 

_Eye for an eye, you Popsicle Prick!_

 

 

" _Every word_ coming out of your mouth right now is **pissing me off**." My fists are clenched tight enough that my blunt fingernails bite into my palms.

He looks more panicked. "I'm sorry Herald, I didn't mean--"

"Why are you apologizing to me when you _should_ be apologizing to her?" I grind my teeth in frustration and spit the question through a jaw that won't open. 

"But she's just a servant--" Every word is another nail in his coffin. 

"She's not just a servant! She not _just a_ anything! She is a **person**! She doesn't belong to **anyone**  but **herself** , you JACKHOLE!”

For once is not fear or pain blackening my vision, it's pure unfiltered _rage_. I can't hold back anymore and punch him in the face with my fist as hard as I can. He flies back ten feet with a sickening crunch, stumbling another wobbly step before falling in a bloody boneless heap.

 

 

_Woah... Shit! What was that? Did I accidentally channel the Force or something?_

 

 

I expect to be trembling, but my hands are steady. Much steadier than I thought they'd be with the amount of adrenaline coarsing through my body. Wiping the blood from my split knuckles on my pants, I turn toward Tiny to make sure she's okay. I stumble back a step myself, but mine is in surprise when she launches herself into my arms.

“Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou.” Tiny says over and over, muffled by my chest.

 

 

_I was not expecting that greeting..._

 

 

I resist petting her shining hair soothingly like I would a child, just barely. Instead, I shift her up a little higher and give her a hug before gently extracting myself from her spontaneous embrace. 

“He deserved it and then some,” I say gruffly as I set the ten pound bit of tinyness down carefully.

I clear the phlegm of emotion from my throat. “I wanted to apologize about this morning.”

“You don't need to...” She starts shaking her head emphatically. 

“But, I don't want you to think--”

“I don't,” She interrupts firmly.

“But, you told Jackhole…”

“So he would leave me alone.”

“Wait… I'm confused. So, this morning... That was what? An act? You mean that you're not actually mad or scared of me?” I couldn't be more surprised, even if she hit me between the eyes with a frying pan full  of bacon. 

 

_Am I ever gonna understand these people?_

 

 

She eyes my crotch with tentative caution, biting her lip as if searching for the right phrasing. “I was... startled. But later, after I thought about it for awhile, I realized you weren't actually propositioning me. Then, I felt a little bad about leaving you like that, it must have been pretty embarrassing.”

Flies would be buzzing around my open mouth, if it wasn't zero degrees.

She giggles. “Even if you didn't wear vallaslin, you've obviously never been an elven servant before.” Straightening to her full diminutive height, she tilts her chin and looks me in the eye. Her personality is completely different than I thought.

I close my flopping mouth with a click, chuckling a little myself. "No, I haven't. Why is it obvious?"

"You wouldn't look so surprised or guilty if you had. You get used to _certain_  unwanted overatures from those with higher rank than you. I've pulled that particular trick many times."

"Oh." I don't know what to say.

 

 

_Or how to react. She certainly had me fooled this morning._

 

 

“Although this… What did you call him?” She nods at the unconscious man.

“Jackhole.”

“Right. Although this, Jackhole, wasn't buying it... Usually they aren't so bold. I'm grateful you interrupted when you did.” She gives him a sharp kick in his overblown testicles.

He moans in pain. Starting to stir, he blinks his eyes open and slowly focuses on me.

I crouch down next to him so that I'm in his level of vision. "Does preying on women make you feel like you have your big boy panties on, Jack?"

He makes a very unmanly whimpering sound, and I almost stomp his face with my foot.

 

 

_Now what do I do with him?_

 

 

I glance around for inspiration and my eye catches on some unused tent supplies... and there's rope.  Good. I grab it and do an under-handed toss to Tiny.

“Here. Tie him up. Make it as tight as you'd like.” I can't help my possibly-evil grin.

“Ooff!”

Tiny rips a strip of cloth from his hem and gags him with it, brushing off both hands, she stands up.

 

 

_I have an idea._

 

 

“This has been interesting, Tiny, but-- Oh shit, I just realized! I don't know your real name!” I'm embarrassed at my lack of manners. 

She looks at me, with pink high on her cheeks from exertion, and bows in a formal curtsy. “Tiny, is a fine name that I will be proud to answer to. I'm honored, Herald, please accept my apology for mishandling this morning, I assure you that won't happen again tomorrow.”

“You want to bring me breakfast again?” I'm so surprised that I stop in the middle of unbuckling Jack's armor. Smacking him in the back of the head when I notice him trying to wiggle away. 

“Yes, it is my wish to be assigned as your personal attendant.”

“Won't people think… Won't they give you a hard time, since I'm a guy?” I dump the armor off to the side with as much offhand care as I give fad diets, but I keep Jack's belt for myself, settling it around my hips and buckling it to the tightest hole. 

“Quite the opposite, I'll be the envy of them all! And it should cut down on the unwanted Jackholes.” She beams at me with a twinkle in her eye.

 

 

_Which reminds me... I still have him deal with._

 

 

“That's fine with me, just let me know if you have any trouble making it happen," I say with a grunt of effort as I heft the struggling man over my shoulder.

Giving Jack a hard wack on his derriere first, I wave farewell to Tiny and beeline the direction of Cullen's tent. It's waaaaaaay at the end of the row, off to the side - probably for a small bit of privacy so the others can't hear his nightmares.

He's the Commander, he should have a cabin at least. I wonder why he chooses to stay here?

 

 

 

_Speaking of cabins… I wonder how long it'll take for Josephine to locate some of the stuff I asked for. Maybe she'll find me a mirror/looking glass/whatever it's called here?_

_Jackoff's observations made me curious._ _White hair? Vallaslin? What? Earth me looks nothing like that! I mean, I know I'm a dude but I just assumed I'd be kind of a male version of human me…_

 

 

 

I drag Jack right up to the front of the tent. Dumping him outside, I lift the flap and enter without announcing myself. Unquestionably rude, but at this point I just don't care.

I **very much**  care about two seconds later. The size of the tent from the outside is a lie. It's an optical illusion, the damn thing is definitely MUCH smaller on the inside.

He's shirtless and I'm speechless.

Corded muscle gleams in the candlelight. Given his profession and this hardcore realistic setting, I expected his chest to be a mass of old scars and new, but it's not. Only a fine tracery of whitened ridges mars one shoulder blade, looking almost like claw marks.

 

 

_I think big beefy muscles met veiny sculpted muscles, fell in love, had WAY too many Netflix and chill nights, and gave birth to a hoard of baby muscles to add to the family..._

_It's just fucking ridiculous how fit this man is...that golden dusting of hair stretching over those swells of contained power, sparkling like golden tinsel..._

_I wonder if it's as soft as it looks..._

 

 

“ _What_?” He snaps irritably, impatient at my intrusion, not explained in the least by my awed silence.

Noticing that my eyes still haven't reached his face he snaps his fingers loudly right in front of my nose. I blink and look up at his face blankly.

“Oh for the love of the Maker…” He says in exasperation, rubbing the frown crinkles in between his eyebrows for a couple of seconds. He finally takes pitty on me and reaches for a shirt.

I watch him pull it on with twinge of disappointment, then I give myself a mental slap.

 

 

_Yes, obviously I'm not used to seeing that level of sexy survivor stud up close, but get a grip._

_Control your inner eager beaver!_

_Put your freak on a leash, before there's a banana muffin popping right out of the oven!_

_For realz (definitely with a 'z')._

 

 

It could be a trick of the light but I'm pretty sure the corners of Cullen's lips just twitched up in a hint of a smile. At the rate things are going, I'm definitely going to need therapy.

And some new pants.

And a cold shower. 

And an uglier advisor. 

After donning the shirt, he turns back around with his features smoothed from expression, but his eyes seem softer than I've ever seen them, or it's that same damn tricky light.  
  
“Better?”

 

 

_No._

 

 

“No. I mean _yes_! I mean… uhhhhhh... sort of?” I'm bumbling and fumbling like I'm asking him to prom. 

He gives me a look that I'm becoming far too familiar with, meaning I've just said something daft.

“I need to tell you something,” I blurt out, mainly to shift my focus to something other than his body, which is a hell of lot more attractive to me than it should be.

“Yes, I gathered that,” he replies with a hint of amusement.

 

**THUMP**

 

There's a muted thud and a muffled exclamation from just outside. Cullen looks at me in surprised question and opens the flap, disappearing outside before I can tell him about Jackhole.

He returns only moments later hefting the hog-tied prisoner with one arm ( _Wow_ ). “I assume you have a good explanation why one of my soldiers is bound like an animal outside of my tent,” he says with disapproval as he dumps the man unceremoniously to the ground.

“Funny you should say 'animal' because that's exactly how he was acting...” I fill Cullen in on the situation that just happened with Tiny and he listens patiently, ignoring the muted protests from Jack behind the gag.

After I finish my story, leaving nothing out but my curious feat of super-punch strength, Cullen reaches over and unties him. 

Jack takes out the gag and glares at me, opening his mouth to say something I don't want him to say. Probably something disgusting about women and elves and slits. Something that will make me hit him again.

 

 

_Hit him... Castrate him... Make him squeal like the pig that he is..._

_Woah there, inner dialogue - you're getting pretty dark. Maybe I should offer him to Leliana as a poison taster instead of planning out his torture._

 

 

“You can't believe anything Jack says. He's definitely a bad-guy. The shit he would have done if I hadn't interrupted... Ask Tiny if you don't believe me!” I jab my finger at the lecher accusingly.

Cullen frowns down at me. “I assure you, Private Holden's first name isn't Jack.”

“Well, maybe not, but it seemed only natural to shorten Jackhole/Jackoff/Jackass to something easier to say.” I argue, crossing my arms defensively.

Commander Sugar Cookie really does smile then. It's so small that it barely qualifies as such, but it's definitely a smile and _not_ the lighting.

“Fair point, Herald. Thank you for bringing 'Jack' to my attention. Don't worry, I'll take over from here.” And with that I'm politely but firmly dismissed.

 

 

 

_That was mostly successful. It went pretty well, I think?_

 

 

Back outside the night is quiet. I feel the calmness of the lake calling to me with it's peaceful undertones and I find myself retracing my earlier steps back that direction.

 

 

_The night's not over yet…_

 

 


	21. Blue Eyes And Starry Skies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My beloved Ballers, I apologize for the wait. Really. My writing mojo just wasn't there for me... Damn mojo...
> 
> I sincerely hope this chapter makes up for it! Let me know how you feel after you read it. I LOVE your comments <3

 

The well-worn wood creaks beneath my feet as I meander slowly to the edge of the pier, like a pirate walking the plank. Ahhhhhh (I mean:  _Arrrrrrrhh_ ) peace and quiet, what a novelty.

You know, as much as I curse Thedas, sometimes this place isn't a complete and total shithole. When I'm not caught up in all the crap, at least. **Ha!** Too bad the world-ending drama makes up 98% of life here...

If I didn't already know that crusty-red lyrium-splattered shit was gonna hit the proverbial fan in the next couple of years, I'd be tempted to just leave them all to it.

Wash my hands of the whole mess. Maybe move to a small fishing village where no one knows who I am and I can enjoy life again in lovely obscurity, somewhere warm, somewhere I'm surrounded by burly guys with lifestyle beards and man buns. I'll compliment their farmer's tan while I braid their luxurious hair, or possibly take up basket weaving...

 

 

_That'd be useful to hold fish, right?_

 

 

But alas, I can't really do that, can I?  Escape is not truly an option, obscurity is not meant to be. Seriously, what would everyone do without me? Continue fighting. Continue dying. Could I really live with myself, hiding away, knowing that I'm the only thing standing in the way of eternal doom and gloom?

 

 

_What is my life going to be like from now on?_

 

 

What a fucked up first official day...  I'm glad it's almost over. Being a rookie in training for a job that I'm barely surviving, sucks royal balls. I feel sore and perpetually exhausted, like I've had enough action in a couple of days that it would take  _weeks_ maybe even _months_ to describe it in detail.

 

 

_Not that I'd even know where to begin…_

 

 

But, I guess for now I'm alone and I can finally catch my breath. So, that's exactly what I do. I close my eyes with a long sigh and just breathe.

 

In…  
Out…

  
Feeling tension slowly releasing with every exhalation.

  
In…  
Out...

 

Reaching my fingertips to the dark blanket of night above me, I do a full body stretch, bending my spine in a sinuous snake-ish motion until it cracks a few times. As I continue my inner breathing mantra, a song randomly pops into my head and I start humming along with the melody as I roll my shoulders and focus on working out the pent up tightness in my joints.

Soon I'm singing along, quietly under my breath.

"Breathe in, breathe out."  
"Breathe in, breathe out."  
"Breathe in..."

 

 

_Why am I being quiet? Screw it. I'm alone, who cares?_

 

Yes, I'm rocking out in the moonlight like a moron. Getting my groove on drunken karaoke-style, bobbing and weaving to my internal beat complete with an imaginary drum accompaniment, belting the words to a song by Bush that I haven't listened to in forever.

 

 

"Tied to a wheel, fingers got to feel."  
"Bleeding through a tar-decay smile."  
"I spin on a whim, I slide to the right."

"I felt you, like electric liiiiiight."

"For our love, for our fear."  
"For our rise against the years and years…"

 

 

I trail off, ducking my head with a small amount of frustration, resorting to my earlier humming once I reach an end to the lyrics that I readily remember. If only I had YouTube or Pandora handy at my fingertips, I'd pull up 'Machinehead' and refresh my memory. But it seems I'm destined to—

 

 

_Bubble-bursting Build-a-Bear! When will I quit bitching about things I can't control? There's really no use in reminiscing what I can't have because it doesn't exist, and I couldn't explain electronics to the suspicious people of Thedas, even if anything did still work properly here._

_Besides, honestly if I really think about it, I'd really rather have a good old 80's geeky fanny pack to carry my inventory, assuming I can locate or replicate the few items I had before._

_What a tough-love education in practicality..._

 

 

This will all be good for me. It'll build character. Quite possibly that's total bullshit. Right...

More likely, my luck will run out and I'll be dead soon. What a lovely thought.

 

 

_For realz (definitely with a 'z')._

 

 

I plop down at the end of the pier, tired of singing, tired of complaining — even to myself. Wrapping my arms around my calves, I prop my chin on my knees and gaze across the frozen expanse of ice. The moonlight glistens and sparkles like diamonds as it reflects light off the slightly rippled surface in the  peaceful quiet of the night.

 

 

_The lake is really quite stunning, even if it is a little ordinary without my Jackfrost prickcicle ornamentation. Now, THAT would have added a unique conversation piece._

 

 

Such a shame I didn't go through with it, I thought that was a pretty creative idea... I wonder now that the situation has been brought to his attention, how deep Cullen's investigation will go. Will he notice some of the same things that I have? He's not an elf, but will he still care in the same way that I do?

Will I ever get another opportunity to see his fine ass without a shirt? Would he cut off my hand if I finger walked up the ladder of those naked abs?

 

 

_Hey, if I used the proper mean-green hand I could even use that as an extreme antifungal treatment..._

 

 

I collapse on my back in defeat rolling my eyes at myself, annoyed by the pervy direction of my thoughts, arms spread eagle like an offering of forgiveness to the heavens. I've looked forward to this moment to myself all day, and all my brain wants to do is frequent the HOTness of unavailable men.

How aggravating.

I thump my head back on wood planks a few times, taking out my frustration on my own skull. Maybe with enough force I can knock some sense into my hard head with it's inconvenient, often incoherent, incessantly hormonal brain. I already feel pretty guilty about dry-humping Cullen with my eyeballs back there. A little like I'm cheating on a certain grim-faced hobo apostate.

 

 

_But why?_

 

 

That's a damn good question. What loyalty do I owe a man determined to betray us all, destroy the world, and break my heart. Not that I'll actually get that chance to know his love, even briefly, because I'm not a woman.

Well, not externally anyway. 

We won't ever be in the butterfly stages of a budding romance. I won't feel the strength of his loving embrace or his lips passionately possessing mine, or the acute frustration when he gains control over himself and pulls away. I'll never be locked into that particular relationship, battling tears as he ends things with cruel finality and walks away. 

 

 

_How utterly depressing._

 

 

I should be _thankful_ that Fate did this to me, that it has a wicked sense of humor. I should be _thankful_ that Solas won't get the opportunity to shatter my emotions to pieces like they're made of fragile porcelain. I should be _thankful_ because here I wouldn't be falling in love with a preprogrammed set of pixels, here it would be REAL.

I should be grateful for all of those things, and yet all I am is very sad. My heart, abraded and serrated with splinters of despair. 

Blinking rapidly, I touch the corners of my eyes with my fingertips, catching the salty water before it can spill over onto my cheeks. I gaze at the stars imploringly, searching for answers, lost in thought and studiously ignoring the shiny puddles reflecting light as they well at the bottom of my vision.

 

 

> Star light, star bright, 
> 
> First star I see tonight, 
> 
> I wish I may, I wish I might, 
> 
> Have this wish I wish tonight...
> 
>  

 

The twinkling stars don't answer. They don't share any earth- shattering insight, just mutely winking back at…

“May I join you?”

I almost fall off the pier.

 

 

_Coffee covered cromagnam cronies!!!  What the fuck?!? That actually worked??_

_No way!_

 

 

"Solas! Damn it, you scared me!" I sit up in a hurry, wiping my eyes hastily with my sleeve and sniffing before turning to give him a _look_.

How long has he been standing there watching me?

Shouldn't old ass beings have other hobbies?

 

 

 

_Seriously, one of these days, I'm gonna piss myself - a huge puddle right in the crotch, I swear!_

 

 

Reigning in my wayward thoughts, I eyeball him. When I do, I'm happy to notice that he's added a loose-fitting, sleeveless robe over his afternoon attire. I'm thankful for any and all help to keep my rampant drooling in check. 

 

 

_Mostly happy. Mostly thankful._

 

 

"Ir abelas, that was not my intention." Dipping into a small bow, he looks contrite. I'm not certain if it's because he startled me or if he saw my tears.

Not that it really matters because that simple two word apology spoken in his native language, does things to my eardrums that should be illegal.

Outlawed.

Banned for all time for being so fucking addictive.

 

 

_I'm so weak._

 

 

I scape together the puddle of goo that is my body, and move over to make room. He acknowledges the floppy, clumsy movement for the invitation it is, and settles gracefully down next to me, robe spreading around him as he leans back casually against a wooden pillar. Clasping his hands together, he folds them in his lap, looking down at the lake and up at the stars in silent reflection for awhile before turning to me.

“You seem… introspective this evening, is there something on your mind?” He asks the question with an inviting tilt of his head.

 

 

_Isn't there always?_

 

 

I lean back, resting my weight on my elbows and tilt my own head back up towards the night sky. I take my time answering, deciding and then changing my mind on what to say, for once not feeling any pressure for haste. His solid presence beside me is surprisingly comfortable, as long as I ignore how handsome he is in the moonlight.

"You know... This shit awful world also happens to be quite beautiful." I finally come up with a neutral topic.

“Yes, I suppose it is, in a manner of speaking.” He agrees quietly with only the smallest hesitation.

Taking in my surroundings, I revisit my brief moment of contentment and savor it with a sigh. ”It's nice to actually enjoy the scenery and not worry about getting shot at, blown up, or sliced to shreds. Wow, I've almost died at least probably five times. And you know what… I don't think I've ever truly thanked you properly for all the times you've healed me."

I push myself up and reach over impulsively, brushing his shoulder lightly and giving the muscles there a gentle squeeze. “So… Thank you, Solas, for saving my life, for everything.”

He stills at the contact. “Gratitude is appreciated but unnecessary Herald, I would no more ignore your wounds, than I would my own.”

“That's... That's a really nice thing to say.” My hand tightens reflexively in mild irritation at the title, it would have sounded better if he'd used my name.

 

 

_Woah. That shoulder is…_

 

 

He pulls away gently from my molesting hand hug, angling his body in a turn that leaves most of him lost in the darkness.

“The stars seem brighter here,” I say to change the subject, dropping my hand with a soft noise of regret, wishing I had kept my overly friendly and very interested hands to myself.

There's a moment of awkward, tense silence. 

“Are they much different where you are from?” The question sounds a little stiff and forced, taking me by surprise.

Did I mess everything up by touching him? 

I glance over, following the angled line of his jaw with my eyes. _Is it tighter?_ The shadows make it hard to tell or see the rest of his face.

Probably better that way, less distracting.

“Not really… stars are stars I guess. Maybe, I just didn't slow down enough to notice." I can't recall the last time I really stopped my crazy-town life on earth and just sat under the stars.

"Yes, the waking world is often distracting." He nods in understanding and seems to relax. "But when I dream, I journey deep into the Fade in ancient ruins and battlefields to see the dreams of lost civilizations. I have watched as hosts of spirits clash to reenact the bloody past in ancient wars both famous and forgotten."

As he talks, his tone becomes more and more lively with animation, my thoughts scattering like horny confetti at the movement of his angular jaw, accompanied by the occasional hint of teeth and tongue as he talks, sharp flashes of white. I watch hypnotized while those sensual lips shape the words that dwell in the air between us.

"What do you mean ancient ruins and battlefields?" I prompt as soon as his words trail off, aching to hear more of that voice, wanting to see more of that gleaming white.

He continues enthusiastically, encouraged by my interest. "Any building strong enough to withstand the rigors of time has a history, and every battlefield is steeped in death. Both attract spirits, they press against the Veil, weakening the barrier between our worlds. When I dream in such places, I go deep into the Fade. I can find memories that no other living being has ever seen."

"That's amazing, Solas. Tell me more about memories and your journeys in the Fade," I say in a promoting way, settling in with a content sigh. 

His voice is both melody and harmony as if the music of my soul is something he unconsciously knows. I could listen to him talk for hours, my eyes fluttering shut and my imagination twisting his innocent words to match one's that I'd rather hear, that I ache to hear.

 

 

_If only he spoke all of that in elven... I would barely understand a word, but..._

 

 

An involuntary shiver races along my spine.

“Herald? Are you cold?” There is amusement in his tone.

I open my eyes and notice a small lift at the corner of his lips. His usual cool piecing gaze is softened by good humor, almost dancing in excitement at having found someone happy to engage him in a conversation topic that he's passionate about.

“I"d rather my dreams weren't so memorable... I wish could turn mine off.” I grumble under my breath, ignoring his question.

 

 

_I wish I could turn **me**  off._

 

 

He still hears me, damn big elf ears. “What do you mean? What do you dream of?”

 

 

_You._

_I can't tell him that._

 

 

"Not of wars and sorrow, that's for sure. Mine are much less epic, or at least epic in a different way... But don't worry about it Solas, I'm fine, I'll deal with it somehow. Besides it's not really important."

 

 

_That dream was… something else, and I honestly don't know how to discuss it. All those carnal details... I can't recall ever dreaming in such a realistic way, or EVER being that eager for the touch of another._

_It's a little scary._

_Was it him? That really seems unlikely, so what does that leave? Aren't there different kinds spirits that will try and tempt mages while dreaming? That dream was the definition of temptation, and I failed the test, succumbing to my overwhelming attraction to—_

 

“ ** _Elaborate_**.” A one word command that slices into my thoughts like a sharpened knife, and has me opening my mouth before my words are organized enough to speak.

 

 

 

_Uhhhhh._

 

Hard hands and tight bands. 

_No._

 

Encased in steel until I squeal. 

_Try again._

 

Bent over a table, forced down to keep me stable. His body behind me as he tries to unwind me. 

_Nope. Not better._

 

Says I'm a liar, I'm glad he's a biter.

_NO!_

 

Wet to my knees, no need to tease, anything he wants, I'm puddling from his taunts - PLEASE!

_Useless. Fucking useless._

 

 

 

I shut my mouth with a snap before any of those damning words have a chance to fall out, and take a breath. When he starts to interrupt my scrambling thought process with what would probably be another command, I hold my palm up for him to wait and he shifts impatiently.  When I look at him beseechingly, he finally settles back against the pillar. 

“I don't dream of wars the same as you, mine are a different kind of battle, one of words, and wits, and wills."

“Do your dreams disturb you?” He shifts closer as if to better guage my answer, as if he can't help himself. 

They do on several levels, but I shrug noncommittally. "No, not exactly. They're not much different than my interactions while I'm awake.”

 

 

_Except with more nudity..._

 

 

"But they can be… _difficult_...nonetheless." I find myself both distracted and distressed because when he's this close I can smell him. The fresh scent of soap and lemons, lingering and intoxicating, but not the same as in my dream. I remember that underlying stimulating musk with vivid clarity.

It's missing now.

 

 

_Mother menstruating Moses! Does that mean I was playing carnal footsies with a spirit? A demon?_

 

 

Demons in the Fade... I thought they'd be more obvious, but maybe it was and I was just too lust-filled to notice. Was that some kind of desire demon parading around as Solas? If so, I need to be very  _careful_ in the future or I'm gonna end up possessed.

 

 

_Unless actually **was** Solas and he's just amazing at playing innocent… And supremely creative with interrogation techniques..._

 

 

"Warding against unwelcome spirits is one of the first lessons a Mage is taught, however it is apparent that _you_ have not been taught even the most basic of magical theory. _Why_ is that, exactly?" He sounds very disapproving.

“What?" The question pops out before I can think about it.

"You are ignorant because you had too many other responsibilities with your clan?”

"Uhhh… Huh?" I'm floundering.

 

 

_Keep it together._

_Remember where you are._

_Who you are._

 

 

"Oh… yes, THE clan. Definitely, clan life is very tough.” I nod, starting to think that it's time to start extracting myself from this conversation. I'm getting squirmy. 

Mr. Nosey sure isn't pulling his punches. The 'why' is obvious, because this is my second day here (I think) and haven't been taught anything by anybody. Because I'm not an ancient geezer who probably uses magic to sanitize his butt after every bowel movement. Because nothing works out the way it should!

“Even at your age, you should be much more advanced than you are currently.” His lips turn down in distaste, like he's swallowed something bitter.

 

 

_Careful Solas, you're inner cranky old fart is showing..._

 

 

“Dalish,” he scoffs rubbing his chin with his thumb and forefinger, “I am not remotely surprised, my own interactions with your people have been less than productive. How much did they even _try_ before sending you away?”

"Hey now, don't judge too harshly, Sassy-pants! You weren't there and I'm sure they tried their best. It's just… _things don't come easily for me,_ " I spit out  the last defensively, crossing my legs and arms in front of me rather than kicking him in the kneecap and flipping him off.

 

 

_Nothing ever comes easy._

_Except erections._

_LOTS of fucking erections._

 

 

He turns his head toward me, his lips thinning like he's biting back a surprised smile. “I have noticed.” He pauses and raises an eyebrow in an elegant arch, covering the lower half of his face casually with curled fingers. “…'Sassy-pants'?…”

“Would you rather I call you Chuckles like Varric does?”

“No, I would not.” A small 'V' burrows between his brows at my barbed question. 

“Then don't be a smart mouth! If you think you can do better, then—"

“Without question, da'lin," he interrupts, moving his thumb lightly back and forth over his lower lip in a very distressingly distracting way. "But, would you be a _willing_ student?" He his tone is mildly bland and yet, it still manages to sound seductive, like an invitation.

 

 

_.......... I .........._

 

_.........._

 

_I believe this man is the smoothest talker of all..._

_Willing? Just remembering the 'teaching' methods of dream/demon/real Solas is enough to light the raging bonfire that hangs out, simmering just under the surface of my skin at all times._

_You can 'teach' me **anything**  you'd like, 'Professor'!_

 

 

 

I lean forward, covering my lap with my crossed forearms resting on my legs, keeping a lid on my embarrassingly exuberant nemesis who's suddenly very interested in eavesdropping on our conversation.

I clear my throat, hoping my sudden movement isn't super obvious. “Your knowledge and teaching would be... appreciated. Thank you.”

“Good. I will be glad to help.” He leans forward and reaches out like he's waiting for a handshake. "Give me your hand."

 

_He wants to shake on our agreement? Huh?_

 

I hesitate and he frowns.

“If you _desire_ to learn magic, you will first learn  _obedience_.” He stands with zero flourish, but with the kind of grace that I will never achieve. He holds out his pale palm with a dignified bend to his waist as if offering me a dance. “Your. Hand. _**Now**._ ”

 

 

_Oh Lord of Lushie Plushie Lasciviousness, **that**  lower octave again. I desire so much more than leaning magic. Could I just demand to see him naked?  Please?  Maybe I could ask nicely. Maybe I could interest him in a game of truth or dare. Strip poker?_

_I doubt his reaction would be favorable, but I feel like I could stop the rampant imaginings, if I only knew..._

_If only..._

 

 

There's little bobbing bounce that pokes my arm. 

 

 

_Stop it! Down Tigger, bad penis! Don't make me spank you!_

_Uhhh... Not that way... Just STOP already!_

 

 

I bring as much focus as I can, away from my crotch and back to the impatient god standing before me. I avoid his eyes. He has such nice hands, the fingers long and callused, the nails trimmed round and no-nonsense short.

After a moment, and a rumbling sound from the chest above me, I realize that I'm still just staring at his outstretched hand like it's 6am before-coffee zombie-mode, and I scramble to my feet, standing hunched and shifting my weight uncomfortably. I stick my hand out quickly to mask my nervousness.

It might be trembling slightly.

Without missing a beat, he takes my outstretched offering, clasping my hand in a firm grip, his calluses teasing my palm. This simple clinical touch is enough to send a spark of electricity jolting down my spine. My hand spasms and my body clenches annoyingly in response.

 

 

_Cool it body! I've had enough of your opinion!_

 

 

He ignores my reaction and turns my fungus hand over to examine it thoroughly, as if he's planning on reading my palm to tell my fortune. With the fingers of his other hand he traces a pattern too quickly and efficiently for me to remember.

There's a brief flash of white when he finishes, and he closes my my fingers into a fist, covering my mark and sandwiching it between both of his. “There. That should work da'lin, at least temporarily, until I can properly show you other methods of warding technique.”

I stand there mesmerized and slack-jawed, not moving a muscle, not wanting to pull away from his hands, not interested in ending our close proximity even if it's just friendly and not romantic. 

 

 

_Could I freeze time right here, in this moment?_

 

 

He looks up from our combined hands and I can see him weighing his next words carefully. "Every great war had its heroes. I am just curious what kind you will be." His thumb brushes against my wrist, just barely. _Intentionally?_

He meets my eyes and his right hand flexes. A shiver of awareness cuts through me, a whip of pure fire, and my knees almost buckle. 

 

 

_He'd be **strong**._

 

 

I wonder if it'd totally ruin the mood if I suddenly stuck a handful of snow down the front of my pants... Just as I'm seriously contimplating it, he drops my hand and pulls at his cuffs, straightening wrinkles that I hadn't noticed.

Is it a nervous gesture?

"I apologize. It is late and I have kept you much too long, reminiscing at length about times long past.” He states it like a fact with a self-mocking smile.

“No! Not at all! I g- _gurk_.” I choke on excess saliva in my rush to deny any boredom on my part.

 

 

_As if it would even be possible for this man to do anything but intrigue me more!_

 

 

“You are kind to say so, most are not terribly fond of my lectures." His smile turns less sharp at my emphatic and slightly garbled words. "I realize that I often get carried away and forget that dreams are not as pleasant or memorable to those who do not walk the Fade with as much frequency and familiarity as I."

“I'd rather my dreams were _less_ memorable…” I grumble.

“I cannot promise you that, but they should be easier for you to manage. Now, if you will excuse me, I will leave you to your rest. I hear that you begin your training with the Commander tomorrow, your day will be lengthy and difficult, but it is an excellent idea to strengthen your body to deliver and withstand more punishment."

He pauses and looks at me very seriously, very calculatingly, as if taking mental measurements of my height and the breadth of my shoulders. "The muscles are an enjoyable side benefit, but be wary, from what I've observed he is a formidable opponent."

"You find muscles enjoyable?" It's a hoarse whisper, barely making it past the lump in my throat.

 

 

_So do I, Solas. So. Do. I._

 

 

He inhales deep enough to be audible and smoothes a hand over his bald head in a gesture I've never seen before. "I meant that you enjoy having them, presumably."

"Oh..." I sag noticeably, the disappointment leaching away at my hopes like an overzealous vampire. 

 

 

_Disappointment doesn't really cut it, more like utter overwhelming depression._

_Blech. So dramatic._

_Damn bald bastard. The beautifully bald bastard..._

 

 

"But… _Yes_. Since you asked." His stormy gaze spears me like a sword in the gut, his expression pulling at that dark part of me, buried in the depths of my belly.

—He's not the only one... my libido aka my inner tiger and external Tigger awake with a snarl, ready to play ball.

 

 

**_Wait._ **

 

 

My heart stops completely, mid-beat.

 

 

_Is he flirting?_

 

 

 

“I wish you luck,” he adds in parting with the tiniest of smiles and tips his head in farewell, not waiting for my response, turning his back to me and walking away, toward his cottage with lengthy strides, his height and long legs giving him an advantage that I don't possess.

 

 

_Those thighs though... I've spent TIME gazing at those thighs, as a woman and as a man._

 

 

I can't feel my legs, or much of the rest of my body.

I'm a quivering mass of raging female hormones. Male hormones... Whatever...  I spend several minutes floating ten feet above the ground, not noticing anything around me, just staring after him.

 

 

_He…_

_Did he just..._

_Was that..._

_I don't..._

_He couldn't possibly..._

 

 

**_Could he?_ **

 

****


	22. Ding Dong - The Itch Is Fed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New Ballers and old, HUUUUUUGS all around!!!
> 
> My story has made it past a hundred kudos! That's amazingly exciting - Thank you for your support, y'all are FABULOUS!!!
> 
> <3

  
My thoughts are flitting around my head a mile a minute as my feet wander aimlessly, heading the direction of my assigned cottage in a round about way, not running into anyone else in the process, and I'm glad for that. I've had plenty, more than enough action for one night, and then talking with Solas....

 

_Was he flirting with me?_

 

I know that was definitely heart dialogue, even though I've never had that exact conversation banter with him before. I've always chosen to play as a rogue, but the words were similar, and the _way_  he said them…

 

_I think he was!_

 

But what does that mean? There has never been any mention of male/male, Solas-related action, EVER. For that matter, I'm not entirely certain that _I_ am overly interested in dude intimate relations. There are just too many penises and not enough holes…

 

_Ugh. I need stop thinking about it, or I'll drive myself crazy._

 

Besides, it was one sentence, one observation - I shouldn't get ahead of myself. There's time, there'll be more opportunities to talk to him again. Maybe even more chances to flirt.

 

_Don't get all excited. I shouldn't get my hopes up. That could lead to rejection, heartbreak, and disaster._

 

No matter how much I warn myself to keep things chill, to keep my thoughts logical and my feelings in check, I still feel the beginnings of hope bubbling up inside, and I know I'm grinning like a loon.

 

_Just go to bed and focus on the things that need attention, like waking up in time to get my ass kicked by a certain golden-delicious sugar cookie…_

 

Speaking of... In my unhurried, meandering path, my legs have taken me alongside the rear of the Commander's tent. I contemplate for a second, stopping in to discuss the results of Jack's interrogation and what the disciplinary consequences will be, but I realize just in time exactly how late it's gotten.

I don't want to disturb his sleep. Doing so might give me an advantage in 'training' tomorrow, but I banish the cheaty-cheater thought before it can become a full-fledged idea and a nefarious scheme.

I'll talk to him about it tomorrow, since beating me to a pulp will probably put him in a fine mood. That sounds like a fantastic opportunity to question him, as long as my jaw is still working well enough to speak...

Having decided the proper course of action, I continue on past, already dreaming of my bed's cushy softness and warm, comfy blankets.

 

_I wonder how successful Josephine has been in acquiring…_

 

" **Mmmmphh"**

A moan of pain stops me in my tracks.

 

_Oh no, that poor, sad, broken man. He must be having one of his horrible nightmares. That's just awful..._

 

My heart sinks in my chest and a lump forms in my throat. I feel terrible for him, bad enough that I want to weep for his suffering. I want to hold his head in my lap and brush sweaty hair from his forehead, hoping and praying that my touch could ward off those dreadful dreams.

I wish I could, but I'm sure he'd push me away. He's not the kind of man to share his weaknesses with a virtual stranger. And considering my lack of self-control in observing his attractiveness, I'm sure my touch wouldn't be welcomed either.

How does he function when his only relaxation time is plagued with painful visions? How does his body get any rest whatsoever when what he sees when he closes his eyes is a hundred times worse than what he experiences while awake?

 

_The PTSD is real... I've never seen (or heard) a case this bad up close before. I don't actually know the best course of action. Should I just ignore it? Should I go wake him up?_

_If only I could do some Wikipedia or WebMD searching… Maybe my earlier support group is not such a silly idea._

 

 

_Note to self:_

  * _Build and install an anonymous drop box where the folks of Haven can write their questions or concerns._



 

" **Mmmmmph ahhh"**

The sound happens again, this time a littler breathier on the end.

 

_Wait a second..._

 

I realize with a start. That's not a gasp of pain, that's...

Cullen in there alone.  
Doing things.  
_Adult_ things.  
**Alone** _adult_ things.

My face heats up as my cheeks flush in embarrassment. I look around guiltily as if I'm listening to a dirty audio book in the middle of a crowded doctor's office.

What is he thinking about? A nubile Chantry sister daring to show off her sexy, sexy ankles?

I rub my palms together gleefully, I believe I'll be having GREAT fun teasing him about templar celibacy later.

**"MMMMmmmm"**

I hear what is definitely a moan coming from the inside of his tent. I stop moving completely at that gravelly, sexy sound. My feet are suddenly glued in place as if they're encased in hardened concrete.

I'm as quiet as a teenager sneaking out in the middle of the night, the only sound in the quiet of the night is my racing heart and my labored breathing.

 

_I shouldn't be hearing this, doing this, invading his privacy like a porn-crazed pervert._

 

My stomach jerks in a somersault, torn in indecision between guilt and desire. My eyes widen a little, and I lick my suddenly bone dry, parched lips, with a tongue that feels extra sensitive.

I'm conscious of just how alone we are, how alone I am.

 

_No one would know, I could just..._

 

Shaking my my head before my thoughts can go any further, I turn away, disgusted with myself, only to hear that sound of desperate and utter _want_ again.

 

_For the love of towels and lotion... If only he'd be quiet about it!_

 

I can't help it, I just can't.

I give in to my curiosity, focusing on the sounds, dropping all earlier pretense of being a good and moral person. I press my ear against the tent wall straining to hear even more detail of the naughtiness going on half a dozen feet away.

 

_Is that rustling, friction or cloth? I wonder if he's fully naked in there or if he unlaced his pants just enough to unleash the beast?_

 

This isn't just me being curious, no, this is me being a thirsty, disturbed fuck, listening in on the Commander of my goddamn army jacking off.

 

The next sound is deeper, more of a groan.

 

My blood is on fire, my heart bursting in it's rhythm, my face is hot to touch, like I've been sunbathing on the sun.

Then an outright growl.

 

Desire hits me as sudden and unwelcome as a ringing doorbell in the middle of much-needed naptime after an all-night binge watching of Altered Carbon on Netflix. (Man, I miss the internet.)

 

_Ding Dong_

 

Although, definitely more dong than ding.

A LOT more.

Donger my pant-pal, my rampant rod, my covetous companion, my malicious mettler, my gleeful gopher, my erroneous erection, my frequently petulant petituary problem is making the soft leather of my pants fit more like a corset.

 

I feel like I'm a ring side announcer:

> _Annnnnnnd hanging just off center and slightly to the right, and weighing in at seemingly thousand pounds, we have the Turgid Torturer, The Nectarine Nemesis -- Donger!!_  
>    
>  _Let's hear it ladies and gentlemen!_  
> 

 

Picturing Cullen stripped down, pleasuring himself, hand fisted around his own cock. Biceps flexing and veins popping as he works himself up and down, swollen skin reddening above his tight grip. Eyes screwed shut and his jaw clenched tight as he gets closer and closer to completion.

It's hot. Really hot.

Oh god this is killing me.

 

 

_No. Stop. This is wrong._

 

 

I tell myself that over and over as my hand slowly slides it's way closer and closer to the throbbing ache in my pants. Hearing those desperate sounds, even quiet and muffled through the wall, is making my knees weak and sending my heart into maximum overdrive. I notice with a start that my hand is magically already resting on my thigh, as if it teleported there all on it's own. 

All it would take is another inch over...

I bet if I shucked my pants tight this minute the tip of my dick (how weird it is to think of it as mine) would be red enough to rival Rudolph.

 

 

> _You know Dasher and Dancer and Prancer and Vixen,_
> 
>   
>  _Comet and Cupid and **Donger** and Blitzen._
> 
>   
>  _But do you recall..._
> 
>   
>  _The most famous reindeer of all?_

 

 

Yeah...  _Something_  will be going down in history, that's for sure. I could probably hook the damn thing up to a sleigh and light the way for all of Thedas. 

I hesitate, feeling more conflicted about this than my morbid fascination with amputating my fungus hand. This invasion of privacy is wrong, on so very many levels. It's just not right, I need to just move along and scoot right on back to the assigned safely of my four walls, and forget all about this.

I've decided. I've made up my mind. I'm gonna go.

 

Then, I hear another growl from inside the tent.

 

 **“Fuck...”** His voice, cursing with the deep, raspy tone I'll be daydreaming about for weeks to come...

My hand twitches at my side, jumping that last inch as if drawn like a magnet to the the hard line straining my pants. The warm leather is smooth under the light brush of my fingertips.

My knees buckle as pleasure spikes at the intensity of that first hesitant touch.

That's all it takes to overcome my self-control, to just give in to the sensation, leaning carefully against the tent pole and closing my eyes. My mind paints lurid pictures in the blackness behind my eyelids. Each one slightly more depraved than the last.

I imagine those big hands pressing me against the wall of the war room, locking me right up tight against his chest. His warm body a stark contrast to the cold stone behind me as he snakes his arm around my head, gripping my nape, with his thumb under my jaw to better control the situation.

Then suddenly, it's not stone that meets my back, but flesh. Long elegant fingers and callused palms are roughly grabbing me and yanking at my clothes, a lilting voice growling in frustration near my ear when he discovers them not easy enough to remove. And just like that, I'm sandwiched between two of the most lust-inspiring men that I could ever conceive of.

My whole brain turns into a giant squiggle.

Without an ounce of effort, those hands that are refined to the point of sculpture but deceptively strong, reverse our position, spinning me in place so that his drool-worthy form is in front of me. 

He's _glorious_ when he's like this, in the midst of desire.

With Cullen's hands possessively falling to my hips during the turn, and his hard bulge grinding against my ass, I'm staring into two deep pools of azure, stormy enough to boil an ocean.

The handsome-as-sin man before me closes his fists in my hair, trapping my head between them, and whispers against my lips. “If I am going to stay, you are going to be **mine**.”

 

_Mine…_

  
_Can puddles still have legs?_

 

 

The buzzing in my head gets sharper, sparking into intense heat. I grab at him, starved for the contact I eternally ache for, even after only minutes apart. My arms wrapping around him in an encouraging embrace as I mould myself to the sinewy muscles of his firmly masculine body.

“I think that's long enough.” Hands on my ass, fingers digging into flesh, pulling me away and hauling me back against a chest as hard as granite. It's not a voice I've actually heard from Cullen before, deeply dominant, demanding and proprietorial.

It makes my toes curl.

And then some...

 

_My god of panda pajama pants, I can't even..._

 

He leans down, head close to my ear, stubble rasping tantalizingly against my cheek. “How long have you been wanting this?” His hands travel up my arms in a caress to my shoulders, squeezing slightly, tightening when I nod breathlessly, unable to make my voice work.

I can only gasp helplessly for air as his hands move back to my hips, grasping and digging even harder. I bite my lip to stifle an aroused groan and it draws a certain, very interested, blue-eyed gaze.

“You are **mine** and when I am done with you, you will know it. You will _scream_ it.” He doesn’t bother hiding the lust in his eyes.

A jolt of pleasure shoots through me like a lightening bolt at his claim, at the tightly coiled strength of both men, as they both press heavily against me.

There's heat burning in my lower stomach like wildfire, and I cup the hard-as-steel length trapped against the inside of my thigh. Bodies are slick wherever I stroke, tight muscles covered in sweat. His body, their body, my body. I'm lost in the who's and what's and where's. I'm not sure what is fantasy or reality anymore, and I simply don't care. Not thinking about anything other than sensation, my head feels light as air.

 

_I'm truly lost in the Land of Lust, now._

 

I'm a beacon of heat and want, boiling with an almost unspeakable desire, liquid heat building around me and spattering with every grind and slam of hips against mine. From the front and from behind in perfect synchronization.

Growls of possession and sighs of pleasure, could be any of us, or all of us. My own hips start to stutter, grunting in effort as I start to shiver, signaling the beginning of my release. The clothed friction kicks into to overdrive, their movement increasing as I'm humped, pumped, and fucked to oblivion, hard and fast in simulating, mind-melting eroticism.

I start to tense, faltering in my motions as I speed up too, trying to keep up with their thrusts. Then they suddenly both shift their angle slightly, up and against me with enough force to lift me to my toes, back and forth, from one to the other in a coordinated attack that has me gushing in weak-kneed submission.

My vision whites out in ecstasy.

The world narrowing down to waves of fierce pleasure washing over me, through me, shuddering in an orgasm strong enough to make my heart explode in gory euphoria.

I'm left gasping for breath, clutching at my two lovers desperately, but finding nothing but empty air.

 

_Wha??_

 

That shocks me back to myself, back to reality, just in time to catch the tail end of a long whine of satisfaction, my whole body shuddering in aftershocks and trembling weakly.

There's warm, sticky fluid dribbling down my leg, like hot spit on a cheerleader's lower back tattoo.

 

_Ewwww_

 

I curse loudly and graphically before I can think better of it and shut myself up, swallowing the rest of my exclamation as soon as I realize that the night is quiet.

Deathly quiet...

Cullen isn't making any noise anymore.

And I am...

I was.

 

_Hedonistic Head of Humping Pumpernickel! Lord of Lecherous Limericks... Exactly how many of those embarrassingly grunty, sexy sounds was I making out loud while cock deep in my depraved fantasy world?_

 

Even through the pervasive chill, I start sweating like there's something glandularly wrong with me.

I think he heard me.

 

_Ohmygodohmygod… Damn my overactive imagination!_

 

After a mortified pause, I scramble backwards from Cullen's Carnal Den of Delight, tripping over my feet and falling backwards in the snow several times in my mad dash for escape. My legs and heart are racing in equal measure all the way back to my cottage, slamming the door behind me.

I leap into bed, clothes, boots and all, hiding under the blankets, curled and cramped miserably.

I am filled with complete shame and confusion. I don't even remotely understand what the hell just happened, why I totally lost control back there and what...that was.

 

 

_Fuck. Fucking fuck. What the actual FUCK did I just do? The shit going through my head had felt so real, it was like I could really feel their hands on me, chest pressing into my back a--_

 

I cut myself off and hid my face in my pillow.

 

_This is horrible. Mutual masturbation with the non-gay Commander of the Inquisition. Wow. That was ill advised._

_That was stupid, just plain stupid._

 

I can't talk to _anyone_  about this. I can't mention it at all EVER, not even to Varric, my closest friend in this place. I can only imagine the look of nauseated fascination on his face as he hurriedly takes notes, judging and crowning me as King Pervert the Phallus, thinking I was truly sick for listening in and... for what followed. 

Oh my buttery bulimic breadcrumbs… Cullen probably knows too, if he heard me out there, he'd know exactly what I was doing.

 

_Maybe he didn't realize it was me..._

_And maybe the Bubonic Plague was just an infected mosquito bite followed by a little cold..._

_And maybe my farts will cause special rainbows that will lead us to a never-ending pot of gold..._

_And maybe I'll wake up tomorrow and save the world with my Jedi mind powers..._

_Yeah... Maybe..._

 

I know it will be a problem later, probably a very big problem since I have to see Cullen tomorrow, and I still need to sleep. Sleeping involves dreams. Yep, I'm certain to have horrible, porn fueled dreams that will make me sit and stare at a wall for hours on end before finally facing my day.

 

_Holy shitballs and monkey brains, how did my own fucking mind even come up with that? I should never have indulged myself out in the open like that, all creepy and peeping and weird. I should have been stronger. I should never have touched myself, not to adjust my pants, nothing._

 

The sticky goo attaching itself like partially-dried Elmer's glue, penetrates my inner self-recrimination. I'm glad for the distraction, even if I'm more than a little grossed out. I desperately need to wash this mess off before my pants become permanently adhered to my body.

Preparing myself for the sad state of my own personal barren, unwelcoming wasteland, I throw back my covers. Following the hurried, utilitarian motion, I have a moment of absolute panic and have to stop and to make sure that I have the right cottage.

 

_What the...???_

 

Apparently, sometime during my nighttime escapades, Josephine had worked miracles. Climbing slowly out of bed, I look around in awed wonder. Gone is the uninviting, bareness of unused housing and in its place is pure awesomeness.

 

_I think I love that woman! I'll have to think of something nice to do for her, or a gift of appreciation that she might like. She deserves that, and more! This is wonderful!_

 

With no one here to see, I jump around in excitement, swirling in a circle like Julie Andrews in The Sound of Music, squealing with glee. I clap in overwhelmed delight, taking it all in. 

 

_How did she manage to do this so quickly? I would have thought that would be an impossible task in such a short time._

_It's actually a little depressing how everyone here seems inhumanly competent, everyone except me._

 

I'm unreasonably happy to see Chippy the wash basin is still there, on it's worn stand, but he's been pushed up against the wall with a small oval mirror hung above it.

Josephine apparently couldn't find an easel but there is a leather bound book on a desk shoved against the other wall. Thumbing through it absentmindedly, my insides leap in happiness upon finding blank page after blank page of heavy paper, almost like cardstock. I'm dancing in place with excitement, my fingers already itching to dive right in until they're stained and smudged black with charcoal.

There's a bookcase on the wall by the door, mostly empty except for a couple books and a few miscellaneous items that I'll explore later. I don't mind that it's not filled up, quite the contrary, I look forward to adding the items that I deem important, and I'm thankful that she didn't take it upon herself to do that for me.

The only thing that hasn't been changed or moved since this morning is my bed, but a wooden chest has been added at the foot of it. I open it, with as much eagerness as I would a treasure chest, revealing several sets of clean, laundered clothing.

 

_Thank the heavens for Josephine! Yes, oh definitely yes, I love her! It looks like she thought of everything._

 

I hop on one foot and then the other, pulling my boots off, then shucking and discarding the rest of my clothes in a pile in the corner. Soon I'm standing bare, my toes curling gratefully in the heavily-used, but still plush carpet that forms roughly a square in the middle of the room.

My eyes catch on the mirror above the basin and my curiosity tugs at me like a living thing. I still haven't even seen a glimpse of myself, and all I know of my appearance so far, is the random observations people have thrown my direction.

White hair and vallaslin.

I'm not sure how I feel about that.

 

_I can finally see what crazy appearance Fate has granted me to go along with my projectile penis present._

 

Before I give in completely to the strong desire to know exactly what everyone else sees when they look at me, I use the soap and cloth, helpfully left beside the basin, to do a quick but thorough sponge bath. Drying off with the same amount of efficient speed, I hang the larger sheet of linen over the back of my desk chair to dry.

I grab the jar and small toothbrush-ish apparatus, also left by the basin. Opening it the jar carefully, like it's the precious treasure that it is, I take a long whiff. The strong aroma of mint hits my senses as if I'm inhaling freshly crushed leaves, and I close my eyes in silent appreciation of the sharp, clean scent, before attacking my teeth, using the beloved paste with the determination of a possessed oral hygienist. 

 

 

_Ahhhhhhhh. There is no better feeling than scum-free, squeaky clean teeth, after days of bile, blood, and other revoltingly repugnant fluids, in or around my mouth._

_I'd love some floss, but this will work just fine for tonight._

 

With my nighttime clean routine completed to my satisfaction, I turn back to the mirror and take a deep, bracing breath, trying to mentally prepare myself for what I'm about to see. I finally lift my eyes to the mirror and my jaw drops to my toes.

My reflection does the same and we stare at each other in stunned disbelief for an indeterminate length of time.

 

_Son of an eleven glory whore-y ghost…_

_I LOOK LIKE FUCKING, FENRIS!!!_

 

I lean inches away from the man on the other side of the glass, examining my face and neck from every direction that I can. The vallaslin begins at my neck and looks like June's, but it's a variation that I've never seen before, reminding me even more thoroughly of the lyrium lines on Fenris' skin, although mine are the same blue as my eyes, a bright, almost iridescent turquoise.

 

_So not exactly Fenris, but maybe close enough to be a younger, less angry and murderous brother..._

_Why did Varric not even hint at the resemblance? What about Cassandra or Cullen? Didn't they meet him?_

_It's glaringly obvious. Isn't it?_

 

 

I pull at the skin of my face as if it's a mask I can take off. It moves with an elastic pinch, but it doesn't come off or budge at all with my tugging. 

 

_Idiot! Of course my face isn't gonna go anywhere, is attached to my body!_

 

Speaking of body... I step back from the mirror and examine my nudity, critically. It's not a full length sheet of glass, but if I try hard enough I can catch glimpses of more turquoise vallaslin, tattooed in bold scrolling lines down my sides before ending, as far as I can see, along my hips toward my pelvis.

 

_How did I not notice this earlier? I know I was in a state of haste and painfully embarrassed panic, but still... I need to work on my observation skills._

_Maybe I shouldn't be too quick to judge the others of their lack in pointing out my twinsy-ness to a certain grumpy ex-slave. I should be the last person with right to accuse anyone of dropping the ball..._

 

Vallaslin aside, I flex and preen, watching the shift of lean muscle play underneath my skin. It is my skin, I can touch it and see it, but I feel like an alien invader in this body.

This VERY attractive body.

Damn I'm HOT.

 

_And disturbed. Very disturbed._

 

Not to mention tired. I honestly have no idea how long I've been awake, but it suddenly seems like ten hours too long. I drag myself back over to my bed, too exhausted to grab a nightshirt, almost falling into it rather than sitting on the edge.

_But how can I sleep? How can I possibly rest when I'm so stressed and confused?_

 

That's my last coherent thought as I pull up my blankets, before my brain and body give out and I'm pulled down into the darkness of unconsciousness.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here I am in my corner again, biting my nails and searching for any and all signs of enjoyment...
> 
> How'd I do? 
> 
> What it as fun and yummy for you as it was for me? Leave a comment and let me know! 
> 
> <3


	23. Stranger Danger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Easter, Ballers!!! 
> 
> I didn't forget about you - real life heaped epic shitty piles of sad stuff my way and made it difficult to concentrate on this lovely story. 
> 
> I've missed you all terribly **Mwahhh**
> 
> Here's a chapter -- I hope ya'll enjoy it!
> 
> <3

 

 

I walk alone in darkness.

There's a dim ambient light, barely bright enough to see a whole lot of nothingness, but I can't locate the source and it creeps me out, royally. I start humming under my breath to distract myself, mumbling the words to the first song that pops into my head.  

 

> I walk a lonely road.  
>  The only one that I have ever known  
>  Don't know where it goes  
>  But it's only me, and I walk alone... 

 

_Just relax, it's not a big deal. Nothing's going to happen. Nothing's going to jump out from the darkness and attack me..._

 

 

My eyes widen more, as if those extra centimeters will be any help to my rapidly darting eyeballs.

 

> I walk this empty street  
>  On the boulevard of broken dreams  
>  Where the city sleeps  
>  And I'm the only one, and I walk alone... 

 

My heartbeat is racing and I'm hyper-aware of every breath in and out of my lungs. The tips of my fingers beginning to tap out the percussion accompaniment across my thighs, on their own volition. 

 

> My shadow's the only one that walks beside me  
>  My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating  
>  Sometimes I wish someone out there will find me  
>  Till then I walk alone...

 

The whispers of my singing have gotten breathier, progressively higher and higher pitched until my voice cracks on the last note. My song trails off and the unnerving quiet comes back, full force. 

 

 

_Stop it! Quit being ridiculous! I'm not in the middle of a horror movie, there's no hideous brown alien hiding in my closet, waiting for me to go to sleep so he can kill me with his healing finger!_

_Technically E.T is a PG, family friendly movie... One that I will NEVER forgive my parents for dragging me to see as a small child. Yes, logically I know that he's supposed to be a good guy, but that horrid fucker is the reason darkness disturbs me so much._

_There's nothing here, chill the frick flick out!_

 

 

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, holding it for a few seconds before letting it out slowly. Running a hand up the bridge of my nose and across my eyebrows, I apply gentle pressure there, smoothing down the hairs. 

I take a moment like this to calm down before opening my eyes again. 

Hazy fog billows around me in heavy swells and swirls, dark and smokey like the aftermath of a house fire, although it lacks the sooty, acridness that's usually clings. If anything, it carries an almost relaxingly pleasant scent of sandalwood.

Strange...

 

 

_Where am I?_

 

 

My gaze follows the sweeps and rolls of fog, watching the random patterns with a detached sort of curiosity. Not having any better plan, I wander randomly, my footsteps completely silent, not noticing any particular pathway until I catch a shimmering glint out of the corner of my eye and turn around to identify that new something with interest.

 

I stare at a woman I haven't seen for some time.

 

She stares back at me, tired and weary, familiar but different. Almost a stranger now, with wide eyes that are a dull, flat blue, perhaps because they're lacking their usual sparkle, the shadows beneath them dark, the creases in the brow a bit too deep. A face thinner than I've ever seen it before, with cheekbones that are gaunt enough to look brittle, and hair, while still thick and long enough to hit tailbone, is far too tangled to lay smoothly. Hair that is now marred by one wide streak of shocking white.

 

 

_Wow. That's ass-tastically terrible..._

_Fear is not a good look for me..._

 

 

I'd love to think all that gives me a fearsome appearance, like the wicked dreadlock, classic animal skin wearing heroine in a post-apocalyptic fiction novel. The kind that's weathered the storm of impossibly deadly situations and come out the other side tough as nails, maybe even equally as fearsome and dangerous as the bad guy. Which in my new line of heroism work would do far more favors than not.

But of course, it doesn't.

 

 

_More like a haggard, homeless Anna from Frozen than a super cool, badass ready to beat up some Terminators on Judgement Day._

_Like a princess that you pity because she's been imprisoned, tortured, starved, and made a fool of._

 

 

That's how I feel. Drained and leached until the is nothing left but the cold, the grey, the emptiness.

 

 

_So accuracy is morbidly on point..._

_Good god of goobers, I am just one big snotball of poetic depression._

_Suck it up, creampuff!_

 

 

I make a face, sticking my tongue out and narrowing my eyes in a sneer. It takes a mature person with an enlightened soul to disregard the importance of physical appearance. Neither of which describes me accurately, although that's probably why the most pious of priests are rarely handsome, and why the vows of chastity were so easy for them to take. 

(Except in the naughty nun tempting the beefcake monk/priest/preacher stories. There is something eternally sexy about cloth ripping in a confessional with heated words and hot fluid exchanges.) 

Ahem...

 

 

_Well, aren't we mean and judgey today?_

_With an overly-healthy dose of heretical thoughts._

 

 

My breath puffs out in a frustrated huff.

The feelings my reflection and I share are identical. The difference between us was that I can smash her to pieces, tear apart the floor-length mirror and frame with my bare hands and toss it into the depths of the dark nothingness surrounding me, should I be silly enough to be so inclined.

 

 

_Well, I guess call me silly then, because I'm done._

 

 

With a sound falling from lips that's equal parts distress and disgust, I punch Evil Anna right in the nose, with all my strength. The glass cracks with a satisfying crunch, in a spiderweb of fissures spreading out from the impact of my fist. Like a pattern of intricate lacework made out of shiny slivers of childish destruction.

I doesn't even hurt. If anything, it feels cathartic.

I attack again, this time screeching like a harpy, leaping toward Anorexic Anna with both hands curled tight into fists, channeling my frustration like a sledgehammer in escalating waves, distorting the contents of the mirror with every blow. Destroying and erasing the evidence of a lackluster woman I barely recognize.

An artifice.

 

 

_Who am I? Really?_

_I can't even tell who feels real and who is the fake anymore... The woman or the man?_

 

 

I stop suddenly, my arms dropping to my sides and my fingers relaxing, tingly and numb, my breathing heavy from the exertion. I'm torn and a little ashamed at my behavior. _Why am I so angry?_ Throwing a fit doesn't solve a damn thing, and in the end the confusion and the questions beating at my skull really don't matter.

 

 

_Whatever shape I take, whatever size feet do the walking, whatever hole I piss out of—_

_I'm still me._

_As long as I keep sight of that, all the rest of my problems, all the rest of this mess, all the many identity questions, will be resolved one way or another. Driving myself crazy and beating myself up, mentally and physically, will only eventually break me apart into unhealthy, unworkable pieces._

 

 

With my new-found resolve firmly in place, I finally look away from the destroyed heap of wood and glass. It makes me a little sick. The destruction of something masterfully carved and beautiful, on a whim. 

 

 

_Ugh. What a waste._

 

 

There's a sharp twinge of pain from my forearms and I glance down, noticing for the first time that blood runs in thin rivits along my arms like a myriad of scarlet veins. I bend my elbow and angle my hand up making an 'L' , tilting my head and watching in fascination at the contrast of red against the pale porcelain of my skin.

 

 

_Huh._

 

 

I observe quietly, careful not to disturb the flow. I can't honestly explain why I'm not upset by my injuries, but this small amount of pain seems like a decent trade in order to move forward from those uncomfortable feelings. 

 

 

_Yep, that's not a healthy reaction. Let's not make a habit of it._

 

 

When the drips slowly reach the tip of my elbow they collect together, until the weight of collected drops fall and hit the blank, smokey ground.

Like a drop of thick, crimson acrylic in a bowl full of water, the surrounding grey ripples. With each drop the ripples spread out around me in larger and larger waves. Each with the impact of a cannonball into a pool of glass-smooth water, changing and evolving the surface from placid into the mild choppiness of a stream or a river. 

The waves reflect and sparkle as if it's the middle of a hot summer day, instead this blanket of bleakness.

 

 

_Talk about fifty shades of grey!_

_Ha!_

_Who knew such a plain, neutral color could have so many variations. Who knew it could be so damn beautiful..._

 

 

I lower my arm, looking around me in awed wonder. As the blood drips down my wrist and across my fingertips in gentle tickling tracks, real green stalks of grass pop out of the rippling grey waves.

 

 

_What on earth?_

 

 

Kicking the trailing edges of my robe impatiently out of my way, I kneel, brushing the impossibly velvety leaves with slightly trembling fingers.

 

 

_Wait..._

_Did I just imagine that, or did that grass just nestle in my palm?_

_This is... really wierd._

 

 

Just to see what happens, I climb back to my feet, take a breath and fling my arm out in a forceful circle, spreading droplets of blood like a demented sprinkler. Like a rainbow spray made entirely from different shades of red.

My crazy idea works as if my blood is some kind of magic fertilizer.

Foliage spreads like wildfire, popping out and spreading until I'm surrounded by variant greens rather than the greys. Vines emerge from the ground, climbing the pile of discarded rubble like thick green caterpillars, up and over, wrapping the wood until there's nothing left, until everything's assimilated into the grassy collective.

 

 

_Woah. That's a little freaky..._

 

 

The gnarled, winding roots of a tree burst from that spot like a enormous solid oak spider, digging it's legs firmly into the ground before straightening its spine and spreading its arms wide, lengthening and thinning to fingers and sprouting leaves like St. Patrick's themed chickenpox.  

My jaw drops in a gasp and I cover my mouth instinctively with my hand. I don't know whether to be intrigued or horrified. 

 

 

_I'm seriously watching the most disturbing National Geographic documentary in history, on fast forward._

 

 

With a couple pinches, sharp as  bee stings, the flow of blood slows to a trickle as the thin, jagged cuts noticeably shrink in size. My skin seems to reknitting together with an uncomfortable tingling itch as if I have super powered fast healing.

Channeling the two episodes I've watched of HG-TV, I unleash my inner gardener. With the dramatic flare of a grand maestro, I make soft flicks of my fingertips, upwards and coaxing, easy nudges toward where I wanted the 'paint' to land before my forearms are completely healed.

Spring flowers bloom along either side of the long dark hem of my Darth Vader bathrobe that's stubbornly trying to trip me up every time I move — bright red and gold tulips rippling in the sudden warm breeze, and some wildflower that is an almost impossible shade of violet-magenta.

Nature at its finest.

It should look lovely. 

It _does_ look lovely.

 

 

_Honestly, I'm a little proud of my handywork._

  
_But…_

  
_Creepy, blood-grown flowers are still creepy._

 

 

Unsure of what else to do now, I plop down on my rump and stretch out on the grass, laying back and resting in the cradle of my arms crossed behind my head. I stay that way for awhile, silently watching the swaying and rustling leaves of Creeper Tree when a shiver crawls up my spine, causing my skin to prickle over.

I swear that I can feel someone's eyes on me.

Sitting up in a hurry and turning the direction of the perceived threat, I scan my surroundings, but there isn’t anyone or anything there. I hold my breath and strain both my ears and eyes looking for something out of the ordinary, but can't find anything. Just the sprawling meadow of my blood-grown flowers.

 

 

_Yeah, nothing out of the ordinary, there..._

_Sigh_ …

 

 

No one is watching me at least, but I have a hard time shaking off my sudden disquiet. Even though technically I saw nothing suspicious, the impression of eyeballs still lingers.

Heaving a breath in a quiet sigh, I settle back down, feeling a little unnerved at how the tulips seem to bend toward me in a welcoming fashion, snuggling against my sides like sleepy toddlers. 

 

 

_So, I wasn't imagining things!_

 

 

When I don't push them away, they crowd even a little closer, brushing against my arms, my cheeks, leaving unblemished skin behind as if absorbing my fluids like soft, friendly flower-leeches.

 

 

_That's just... Everything's just... fucking weird._

 

 

Rubbing my aching forehead with the heels of my palms, I do my best to ignore the weariness that seems to be growing with each passing second. I try to logically convince myself that I'm not losing my marbles down the drain, but eventually I give up arguing with myself, not wanting to waste the energy anymore.

My head thumps backwards on the plush, velvety grass, the fluffy texture as pleasant as feather pillow. I close my eyes and my whole body relaxes in small exhausted twitches. My brain slows it's swirling thoughts until they plod to a drunken stop.

Things are getting fuzzy.

 

 

_What? Huh?_

 

 

The shiver returns, sudden and intense, this time even more powerful than before. My eyes shoot open and I look up just as my heart begins to race, expecting—hoping—to see no one there, but _someone_ or _something_ had laid a tulip across my lap.

The flower is stiff like a corpse in rigor mortis, lacking normal flower flexibility.  _(Is that a thing?)_ I brush a fingertip lightly down the stem, but it doesn't turn or curl into my palm anymore, and seems brittle enough that if I tried to bend it too far it would snap in half.

It is dead?

 

 

 _Fuck_.

 

 

I sit up and wrap my arms around drawn up knees, rocking slightly in place, sniffing against the sudden sharp sting in my sinuses. I glance around me with strained nonchalance, carefully spinning the golden flower between my fingertips.

 

 

_Suck it up, it's just a—_

 

 

“Do you like it?” A high-pitched voice asks from the depths of the tall grass a few feet from my elbow.

“ _Ahhhhhhh_!! **Fuck!!!!** ” I jump and scramble, up and away from the voice, dropping and trampling on the the tulip I was just mourning over a couple of seconds before. I whip my head around, back and forth, craning my neck at each sound of rustling grass.

 

I'm surrounded.

 

Panic churns, bile rising in my gut. I don't know where to go.

“Poor child...” A throaty feminine voice from behind me makes me whip around again, my heart in my throat.

“Your bitternessss eatsss away at you from the inssside...” I watch in horror as the rustling of tall stalks get closer, slowly weaving toward me in a pattern like an elongated 'S'.

“Bitternessss and longing…”

The compact trail of green suddenly parts in a four inch wide line and a diamond-shaped head the size of a grapefruit emerges.

“What do you _long_  for?” It asks, staring at me with glitteringly intelligent, black eyes as it slowly begins coiling its heavy body in sinuous loops.

 

 

…

 

  
….

 

  
…..

 

 

My mind is blank and my tongue is a dry, shrunken husk, like a prick on a cold morning, as I slowly back away, keeping my gaze locked on the really, REALLY big snake questioning me. I've never had an reptile phobia, but dude... a gigantic talking snake is stalking my every movement with its beady, obsidian orbs.

 

 

_Must not fear. Fear is the mind killer._

 

_**Must..**. **Not** …_

 

 

My leg bumps into something big. And warm. And furry. Right at the bend where my calf meets my knee, causing my leg to buckle under me and throwing my balance off until I'm tumbling backwards over the fuzzy obstacle and back onto my rear with a painfully heavy thump.

Again.

 

 

_I'm going to have butt calluses with how much I fall on the darn thing._

_Are there such things?_

 

 

I blink rapidly to dispel the spots from my vision, only to figure out after a couple seconds that the spots aren't problems with my eyesight. They belong the to the big cat sitting on its haunches licking a paw with it's long pink tongue.

I stare mesmerized as it bathes its head a for a minute before dropping the paw and blinking a few times, giving me an innocent look.

 

 

_Wait…._

_Since when are animals so expressive?_

_What the holy hell is happening here?_

 

 

“What? What is it? What are you staring at?” It's the same young sounding, high-pitched voice that asked me about the tulip.

“What isss it? I can almost sssee…” Right about the same time a raspy voice chimes in as cool, heavy weight smooths its way up my bare calf, trying to wind itself around my leg.

“AAAAAAAHHHHHCCCCKKK! **GET OFF!!!** ” I bounce to my feet, tripping over my robe hem, again, shaking my leg like I've stepped in fire ants. Squealing and flapping my arms ineffectually like a possessed seagull, I hobble over to the tree, dragging my sixty pound barnacle along for the ride.

I lean against the thick trunk, breathing heavily, ignoring the steady pressure of slippery scales sliding along my skin. Thinking that I might be able to use a wooden limb to pry off Squeezy from my flesh limb, I look up into the branches of Creeper Tree and find a snow-white owl staring down at me, blinking in surprise with wide, golden eyes.

A sudden vise-like tug on my barnicle leg almost sends me flying. I latch on to the nearby tree with both hands, wrapping my arms around the trunk tight enough to press bark into my breastbone. I tuck my chin in to my chest and hold on for dear life, my cheek and forehead scraping against the rough bark with every hostile jostle.

 

 

_Hostile Jostle. That'd be an excellent rock band name._

_I'd make a tree hugger joke, but this is serious business._

 

 

I hear sounds of a scuffle but with my head lodged where it is I can't see what's happening, but it sure does feel like someone is trying to dislocate my hip.

“Let go! You're being too pushy, you're scaring her!” The childish voice exclaims furiously, the words muffled as if talking around a mouthful of food, but thankfully the garbled words seem to effect Squeezy almost instantly.

The coils loosen and as soon as they do, they're pulled away immediately, disappearing from my limited view completely, and leaving me free from the uncomfortable tug of war. Ducking behind the other side of the tree, without wasting a second, I keep the trunk between me and the two huge creatures for safely.

After a minute of hiding, I take a peek around at them and realize that my caution wasn't entirely necessary. They're arguing and swiping at each other, and seem to have forgotten all about me.

Watching a large snake and a large cat tousle it quite a sight. I've never been one for nature shows but this is fascinating. Feeling reasonably safe, I move back around to the front and settle my spine against the rough bark, barely flinching when the snowy owl settles on a branch nearby.

 

 

_I guess if you have enough weirdness thrown at you, you can get used to anything._

 

 

“We are all the ripples of a lake. We sparkle and shine when the sun is out, but when the darkness sets in, our true beauty is revealed only if there is a light from within.” A wizened voice that sounds a hell of a lot like Angela Lansbury addresses me out of a cute little beak.

I tear my gaze away from the surprisingly evenly matched, and roughly playful, battle waging in front of me. Glancing over at the owl, I raise a questioning eyebrow.

“Meaning?”

“Curiosity and Envy are necessities, not luxuries. Without them, humanity cannot survive.” The soothing old lady voice answers sagely.

 

 

_Curiosity and Envy? Which makes you, what? Wisdom?_

_According to in-game Solas, a spirit becomes a demon when it's denied its original purpose, when it's forced to do something that greatly conflicts with its original nature._

_So not demons… I'm guessing they're..._

 

 

“You guys are spirits?” I ask in disbelief, interrupting my own train of thought. I'd figured that if I ever ran into any of them that they would appear more like balls of light or ghostly apparitions, not animatedly interesting but somewhat scary creatures.

My question is loud enough that it gets the attention of the other two, and after another grumble and one last half-hearted sweep of retracted claws, the cat pads closer on quiet paws. I watch him approach a little nervously, ready to duck back behind the tree if necessary.

“You betcha!” He purrs enthusiastically in his child-like timber, and I find it impossible to hold on to my fear any longer while looking at the tousled clumps of fur sticking out in every direction.

 

 

_Hmmmmm…_

 

 

I look at each of them in turn, critically sizing them up. Each look back at me evenly, not avoiding eye contact, just too damn cute to be evil. Even the snake, now that she's not all up my grill being squeezy and clingy, flicks her tail at me in a bashful looking wave. 

“So none of you are trying to kill and eat me, or possess me?”

They all sputter in laughter, like its the funniest thing they've heard all day, and that is just as strange as it is comforting.

“I'd rather get to know you better! You might say... I'm **curious** about you!” Following his giggling punchline, there's another round of laughter and this time I can't help but join in. 

 

 

_Definitely not how I thought this interaction was going to go. I thought I was heading for a fight, which would have ended with me being soundly defeated, I'm sure._

_I'm absolutely not complaining._

 

 

And that's how I find myself sitting in a hundred acre wood of my own design, exchanging proverbs with a talking owl while petting the oversized heads of a snake and cat.

 

 

_Sure... Why the hell not?_

 

 

It's actually pretty relaxing once I've accepted the oddness of it all. I'm sitting there comfortably nestled between warm fur and smooth scales when a deeply masculine voice breaks the companionable silence.  
     
“There is beauty here that not everyone sees, da'len. It surprises me that you do, but be cautious not to judge everything by the appearance. Sometimes, the more beautiful the serpent, the more fatal its sting.”     

My head snaps up and my spine straightens in an almost painful way, my teeth clamping together.

My heart and my breath freeze solid in my chest. 

 

 

 

**HOLY FUCK...**

 

**He's here...**

 

 

 


	24. Plunder Down Under

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My beautifully patient Ballers!! 
> 
> It's Sunday Funday time!
> 
> Thank you for your continued interest in reading what my crazy imagination comes up with next, your comments make all the work worthwhile. I love you! 
> 
> <3
> 
> **4/23 No matter how many times I reread for editing, I still catch later mistakes - hence the repost - Sorry!!

 

  
**My good and glorious god of gumdrops…**

 

 

The second I see him my heart seizes up unexpectedly, like someone just reached into my chest and gave it an overly friendly squeezey handshake. The physical reaction is impossible to ignore. My pulse soars on wild, fluttering wings, my blood lifted to new heights by the swirling heat of a lusty breeze.

 

_He looks like a dream of sex and nightmares..._

 

As much as I'm always wishing and desiring, yearning and _aching_ to see him, I'm never EVER prepared for it when I actually do. I want to disappear; I want to shrink back and pull up the hood of my black robe, hiding behind the plushie Vader mask.

The desire is overwhelming.

I kinda hope that he will just leave.

 

 

_There is a constant war waging just under my skin. I can't predict what he'll say or do, this is all so far of script._

_There's a portion of me that just wants to go back to spending snuggle time with my new friends, I just can't decide just how big that portion is..._

 

 

As if sensing my sudden tension, my lap companions shift slightly, a little restlessly, looking between the two of us and waiting for my reaction.

“I am impressed that you are this comfortable around spirits. Very few see them as people and even fewer treat them with such care. You are the first I have met in a long while that does.”

As he talks, he moves toward us steadily, the sound of his voice as he continues speaking and feline grace of his body immediately captures the full attention of all the important parts of me.

 

 

_All the parts that think they're important, anyhow._

 

 

My lips quiver in an unsure smile, my heart skipping in confusion and nerves. I cinch the belt of my robe tighter, feeling very exposed the closer he gets even though I'm modestly covered from the neck down in furry black Sith Lord.

He crouches as he reaches us, entirely unaware of my inner discomfort, smiling in a way that lights up his whole face. He nods to each of the three spirits individually and then addresses them all, his next words flowing together in such an achingly beautiful way, that it takes me a second to realize he's speaking a language that I don't understand.

I wish I did...

 

 

_I wonder how long it would take me to learn elven?_

_Foreign languages have never been my strong suit. Two years of Spanish and two of French, and all I remember is how to ask where to find the bathroom._

 

 

I hold my breath when he stretches out his hand, unable to guess what he's going to do, relaxing when he ignores my presence completely, continuing to focus steadily on the spirits. All three of them look enraptured, almost like pets waiting with bated breath for a treat. 

Solas nods again, as if there was some unspoken exchange between them that I missed. A pale, golden light streams from his fingertips, softly, like petals falling from a rose.

Where the golden petals touch them, they sink into fur, feathers, and scales, with a small burst of light. At first, the glow in localized to just the spots where the light petals touched, but as I watch, the glow intensifies until all of them look like bright, smiling statues. Statues that dissolve into wispy particles of shimmering light that float away like the blowing of a dandelion with a soft breath.

 

_That was so… Magic is so... He is so… I can't even..._

 

And now it's just the two of us in the meadow of my flowers...

Heart pounding and throat dry, I'm suddenly vividly aware of exactly how little space there is between us. It's unreasonable, but suddenly the urge to lean in and close that little bit of space, to kiss him, is so powerful it almost overwhelms me.

 

_Woah there Jelly Belly!_

_Take a breath and think for a second._

 

I tamp down the urge, standing abruptly to cover my sorely tested self-control. Taking my cue, he follows suit, his cape billowing out slightly as he straightens his legs to his full height.

“Solas?” I force it out, little more than a whisper, not really knowing what I'm going to say. I'm still having a hard time believing he's actually here. 

My mind is reeling, although thankfully not in rhyme this time. I know that I have much bigger problems on my plate than whether I should kiss or not kiss him. But it's painfully hard to focus on that or anything else when the object of my fascination is merely a couple of feet away.

 

 

_Stop._

_Don't be fucking weird._

 

 

“Hmmm?”

He absentmindedly leans in closer, turning to look at me, and once again I find myself captured, lost in the endless sea of icy blue. Everything I know, everything I'm thinking, fades away like a song playing in a passing car. Sparks don't fly from the simple eye contact, but a warm wave pushes through me, filling my insides, flushing blood to my cheeks, and causing me to almost forget myself and blurt something ridiculous.

“Come here often?”

My cheeks heat like a blazing bonfire. and I stiffen up, glancing aside in embarrassment.

 

 

_Dangling donkey balls!_ _That qualifies as ridiculous, you fluttering moron!_

_What are you even talking about right now?_

_That cheesy pick up line never works. NEVER!_

 

 

His face is right next to mine, and this close to him I start getting a little dizzy, just his nearness gives me a contact high.

I thought I was past this. When will I stop reacting this strongly? 

I clear my throat desperately. “So… What was that, that you just said to them? It was beautiful.”

 

_**You** are beautiful..._

 

“Oh, that? I greeted them joyfully and respectfully requested privacy.” He says it offhandedly with a shrug. 

 

_Privacy?_

 

It echoes around in my emptiness that is my head. That single word rattling around and sending my brain into a downward spiral of inappropriately lecherous thoughts.

 

 

_Why do we need privacy?_

 

 

I inhale deeply and clear my throat a second time in a small choked cough, but my voice is still noticeably hoarse when I speak. “What did you d—”

A warm breeze tickles my skin and ruffles my hair, and before I can finish the question, his scent unfairly invades my nostrils. It's powerful and calming at once; citrus and wood, a light tropical breeze carried on the spray of a playful wave, like we're sitting on our own private beach.

Strangely, it's laced with the undercurrent of a familiar masculine musk that tickles the edges of my memory.

 

 

_Good god of split pants and happenstance..._

_Why does he smell so good? That has to be illegal. Some contraband magical pheromone that he learned to distill in ancient elf land like a hot, mad scientist._

 

 

I sway, the meadow of tulips and wildflowers wavering before me, and he catches my elbow as I accidentally lean his direction, almost falling into him. His long-fingered hand with its clean nails, cut symmetrically short, supports me with gentle touch at the base of my elbow. 

“Are you feeling well?” His voice has a slightly musical accent, becoming more pronounced with his soft tone. He turns smoothly, nudging me against the tree trunk nearby so that I can rest my weight against it.

“Just peachy…” I manage to say as my damn weak knees give out and I slide slowly down Creeper Tree's base, doing my best to make my answer sound genuine and not totally sarcastic.

He follows me down, crouching next to me, the perfect picture of concern.

There's always something a little soothing about being this close to him, but it makes my skin itch at the same time, desire prickling like a hundred needles.

And then he moves a little closer…

 

 

_Or maybe it's me? Was I the one who moved?_

_Whatever, just go with it!_

 

 

“In my experience most keep to themselves, but not you.” His words are still soft. He lets out a long, slow breath, reaching over to gently tuck a clumped lock of my hair behind an ear. Every little touch is new enough to be unbearably exciting, to the point that I'm completely overwhelmed.

Again.

We're so close that I don't realize that we're both leaning in until we're a breath away from our lips touching.

 

 

_This it is it! It's happening..._

 

 

I lean up to close that last sliver of distance, to kiss that delicious mouth, but my lips find nothing but air.

I feel him pull away even before I open my eyes.

 

_What?_

_But he was... But... I had been so sure..._

 

He reaches up like he's going to touch my face, to comfort me or something, but he drops his hand without following through with the motion. I hear him take a breath like he's going to say something else and we both pause, but he swallows his words with a bob of his throat and a muscle that jumps in his jaw.

 

 

_What was he going to say?_

_Come on Solas! Spit it out!_

 

 

The new space between us aches, cold and empty. I try like mad to keep my face neutral, try keep my hurt feelings to myself.

 

 

_Would it have really been that bad?_

_Is touching/kissing me that abhorrent?_

_Is this tension between us just all in my head after all?_

 

 

“Why are you here, Solas?” I say the words evenly, in a dull monotone, astonished that they actually come out at all.

I'm back to wishing that I could just ask him to leave. I don't have the energy for an emotional Solas-coaster right now.

He's still crouching nearby, but far enough away now that'd I'd have to make an obvious effort to touch him again. I catch a glimpse of his troubled eyes before he turns his face hastily away, giving me his profile as he looks out, off in the distance across the field of flowers.

There's a moment of stillness, with just the warm breeze rustling leaves as branches sway, until he starts speaking.

“Spirits explore freely here, while mortal minds dream, occasionally they encounter negative thoughts and memories. Anyone who can dream has the potential, so this can lead to situations I would rather avoid.”

 

 

_While minds dream…_

 

 

Everything makes so much more sense now and I want to slap myself right in the brain. I gaze around me with fresh eyes, looking everywhere but at him. He's not the only one who would rather not acknowledge my embarrassing overture.

“The Fade... Of course, this is the fucking Fade.” There's a thread of steely resignation in my voice.

 

_How goddamn slow am I?”_

 

His gaze snaps to mine in absolute surprise, the movement of his head drawing my attention.

“Where did you think you were?”

 

_Good question..._

 

“This isn't fucking real…” I ignore him, shaking my head at myself and sighing, internally rolling my eyes in what now seems like an obvious realization. 

“That is a matter of debate,” he interrupts. “One that we can discuss more at length, after you... **W** _ **ake up**.”_

 

 

_Ahhhhhh._

_That's an in-game cue. I'm 100% sure of it._

_I remember that particular one clear as day, I just wish there had been some actual Fade tongue involved before he said it..._

 

 

There are a few more heartbeats of awkward silence after his sentence, as I wait to wake up with a dramatic gasp, back in my own bed in Haven.

When I open my eyes I find Solas looking at me, an odd expression on his face.

 

 

_Wait._

_When did I close my eyes?_

 

 

While I sit there in confusion, he stands up, straightening himself out with quick, efficient motions, not looking at me. In the span of a minute or two, whatever moment we were/might have been/ totally not but I really really wish we were having, seems to be officially concluded, dead in the water. Now, he's back to being his usual aloofly cold and neutrally dismissive self.

With an offhand flick of his wrist, a couch materializes out of thin air, nestled tight amidst the flowers. He looks toward the seat, and then his eyes shift directly to me, pausing.

I recognize it instantly because it happens to be the same exact sofa from his rotunda in Skyhold, but he has no idea that I would ever recognize it.

 

 

_He has no idea... Right???_

 

 

His reaction is brief enough that I almost miss it: a slight arch to his brow, a curve of the lip, and then he's moving again.

I'm only human, I track the progress as he strides the ten feet away to the couch.

 

 

_Like a hungry cat watching a canary..._

_A **starving** cat..._

 

 

The sight of his tall form wrapped in that cloak and those pants… does all sorts of strange things to my insides. Sensations that made my skin feel tight and achy all at once.

I suck in a deep breath, unprepared for the strength of my reaction.

 

 

_Get. A. Grip._

_You've already been politely rejected once._

 

 

I watch silently as he moves with unhurried ease, taking the time to unclasp his cloak and lay it carefully over the back before bending low at the waist to breaking off the numerous tiny branches that are jabbing into the cushions.

 

_Damn…_

_He'd kill at yoga._

 

His clothing clings to his body in a color that isn’t quite black—probably called something like charcoal or graphite if a fledgling author was trying to eloquently describe it in a novel. The contrast of dark leather against his pale skin makes my throat feel tighter and tighter with each beat of my heart, the fabric sliding over the muscles of his thighs and ass like it was painted on.

Seeing the hairless, exposed muscles of his lower arms and the natural bulge in the front of his too-tight leather pants, I feel myself go warm allover.

It sure is getting hot in here...

 

 

_I want him in so many ways right now, so many, many ways._

 

 

Seemingly unaware of my observation, he gracefully sinks into the seat and throws his right arm across the back of the couch, resting his other hand casually in his lap, his shoulders rounded and relaxed as he reclines, toying with a stick in his hand, flipping it between his fingers and letting it dance over his knuckles.

I watch the movement, hypnotized.

He finally raises his eyes to mine, turning his attention fully back on me, and catching me in the middle of stealing yet another a glance at him.

 

 

_Let's be honest._

_I was staring and drooling the whole time._

_I don't think I've even blinked for at least five minutes_.

 

 

He is perfectly put together, more flawless than strokes on an oil painting. I feel a wierd mix of jealousy and longing when I look at him, admiration and desire.

If only he was just a pretty face and an attractive body...

But, add that brain with libraries worth of knowledge I'm dying to tap into, and combine it with his high level of wit and intelligence, and throw in the mysteries of magic...

I'm a goner through and through.

 

 

_Sexiest librarian/nerd EVER._

 

 

His gaze is unwavering. 

His eyes are the pale silvery blue of a clear, sunny day. Eyes that speak of pain and experience in their depths. The more I look into them the more I can imagine them bearing down on me from across an empty classroom, letting me know he means business without having to even say a word.

 

_Oh…_

 

My body flashes with a sudden heat. I could literally combust at any moment.

 

_Was it him?_

_No. It couldn't have been..._

 

Whether it was or not, I shouldn't let myself be so affected by him; it will only end in heartbreak and pain. I've seen firsthand how dangerous and destructive that attraction would be.

 

_Damn… That body though..._

 

My tongue is stuck to the roof of my mouth.

The silence lingers.

It's stifling.

 

_I don't think I could converse coherently, even if my life depended on it._

_Geez… Down girl! Keep it in your pants!_

_He's just sitting there for fucking fitbit's sake!_

 

Distracting myself with ineffective mental lectures, I take my time climbing to my feet, clutching the edges of my robe as tightly together as they'll go.

 

_As if flashing skin would actually be a big deal..._  

 

I know he could probably care less, but I'm super self-conscious, and I'd rather not trip or flounder in my nervousness.

Squeezing my thighs together restlessly, I studiously ignore the pulsing, inconvenient ache radiating from between them. I **try** to ignore it. I also **try** to think of something/anything else other than those long, strong fingers manhandling me.

There's a sharp inhalation and a quiet crack as the stick in his hand snaps in two, and that is all it takes to halt my movement. My eyes jump back to him instantly and I freeze like he just used his ice powers to permanently adhere my knees to the ground.

Blinking, I look at his hand. I stare blankly at the twigs in his fist.

He doesn’t move, doesn't speak. Until, letting air out in an audible huff, he flicks to two broken halves off to the side like a discarded cigarette butt.

My eyes naturally follow the arc and that breaks the spell.

 

 

_Good scatterbrained god of scoffing Skittles…_

_What is this?_

_I am being straight up silly!_

 

 

I finally get one foot under me and I'm halfway raising up from my knees before I realize that I'm trembling. I'm actually shaky enough that it might not be the best time to try and prove that everything is perfectly gravy.

 

 

_What the hell is the point anyway?_ _Where would I go?_

_Waking up would be AWESOME right about now.…_

 

 

Kneeling with one foot up, like a soldier waiting to be knighted, I pinch myself and wait expectantly.

And wait.

And wait...

 

 

_Yep. Great. Nothing. Still here._

 

 

I flop down from a kneeling position to cross-legged, blowing out a tense breath as I land back on my rear.

All these thoughts and feelings are terribly inappropriate anyway. This is absolutely not the right time, but in the absence of distracting conversation there is little for me to do but think. My imagination is a powerful thing and as usual, that gets me in all sorts of trouble.

And I need it to stop.

I keep my eyes fixed on my glittery cactus-painted toenails, flipping the mass of my hair back over my shoulder out of habit, when it threatens to slip in my way.

 

 

_There's an idea..._

 

 

I duck my head down again experimentally, and the curls, tangled into unruly snarls, form a sloppy curtain to separate us. I don’t push the carelessly knotted, copper barrier out of the way this time, instead I let it hang there.

I sigh softly in relief.

I can no longer see him, and that gives me some much needed time to collect himself. I start working my fingers absently through unbound, messy twists of hair.

Which is not going as well as I had hoped.

I find myself struggling to comb the thick mass out with just my fingers, hissing through my teeth and considering shearing off my dream hair like I did in real life.

 

 

_Wait._

_When did I start thinking of male me as real life?_

_My life?_

 

 

“So…” I say, finally finding my voice and breaking the silence, peeking over at him through the veil of hair but I can't really see anything. 

 

_It's he still watching me?_

 

An ivory comb made of some kind of bone suddenly appears in my palm and I come very close to dropping it in shock.

 

_I guess so._

 

“Thank you,”  I say it out of the side of my mouth, projecting just the bare minimum his direction.

Sliding the gift through my hair I start to make decent headway with the deadlocked mess, and after a time, I begrudgingly admit that it's very helpful. Feeling a little childish and a little guilty about my behavior, I pull all my hair over to the other shoulder and tug stiff lips into a smile, before tilting my head and angling to face him fully.

Apparently, sometime when I was otherwise occupied, he'd let his left forearm come to rest on the arm of the sofa. His long legs are casually crossed, one ankle resting on his other knee, while his fingers lightly tap a tune of impatience, completely at war with the rest of his calm body language.

His skin is creamy, pale and unblemished canvas to frame the two splashes of blue vibrancy. Despite originally believing the contrary, I've yet to actually see a freckle. But, the feature that keeps my gaze coming back for more is the shape of his jaw—so smoothly defined, and sharp.

 

 

_What would it be like to trace my lips down that sharp line of bone, tasting skin with my tongue, pulling his shirt aside and finding my way to one of his nipples, teasing it with my teeth until it's rock-hard and…_

_Stop._

_What am I thinking?_

_Wine. I need wine. Or everclear. Straight from the fucking bottle. Oh lord. Why couldn't I have been a blind inquisitor? And if he can magic things with a flick of the wrist, then why isn't he wearing that stupid hobo sweater he's sooooo fond of?_

 

 

His fingers flex, tightening imperceptibly.

My heart is beating rapidly inside my chest and I feel too tingly warm all over, the blaze of heat radiating from the bottom of my stomach.

 

_Yeah. We'll say stomach..._

_Sure..._

 

“So,” I say again, forcing his eyes away from his chest and up toward his face, keeping my composure up despite the thousands of volts of energy coursing through my system.

All of this would be so much easier if I hadn't been little better than obsessed with him for years. If only I could just explain the complexities of my emotions to him. Get it all out in the open. But, I doubt he'd want to hear exactly how much I really know about him and his plans to destroy the world.

 

 

_Yes, try and remember exactly who it is you're losing your shit over..._

 

 

“So…?” He purrs, copying my ridiculous attempt at conversation, his voice warm and liquid, sliding over my body and making me shiver— having nothing to do with the breeze continuing to gently rustle the branches above me.

No, this shiver was all heat.

 

 

_How many times must we go over this?_

_Use your brain, it's in there somewhere..._

 

 

He props his head in his hand, his thumb resting under his chin with fingers covering his mouth, concealing all signs of amusement but the edges of a smile. Denim blue eyes, framed with lush black lashes, are crinkled at the edges, laughing at me as they drag a slow path from my toes, currently curled in the grass, to my eyes.

Along my body. All over my body.

My skin seemed to ripple and react with the path of his gaze and I know my nipples are standing out like headlights, uncomfortably hard but thankfully burrowed into thick black terricloth, hidden or they'd be glaringly obvious and there'd be absolutely no way he would miss the effect he has me.

 

 

_Stop. Reacting._

 

 

He turns his head to the side, licks his lips, and then looks at me again. Only this time, the barely-there smile has transformed into a smirk. Fully coherent thought is pushed aside by the motion of his first two fingers running back and forth over those luscious lips.

Like windshield wipers of lovely doom.

I can almost imagine them as my own fingers.

It takes more effort than I have in me to look away.

 

 

_Stop and think!_

_This is a smart, very observant man._

_Everything he does is careful and calculated._

 

 

My own lips are pursed in frustration as I desperately try not to feel unbelievably turned on. As I attempt to not imagine those same blue eyes smoldering down at me as the lithe muscular, frame of his naked body moves inside of me with slow, sure strokes.

Huffing an angry sigh, I draw my legs up, tucking them under me and clenching my thighs together again, in an effort to tell my pussy to calm the fuck down.

“Why are you staring at me?” I demand abruptly, before I can think better of it.

 

 

_I can't believe I just asked that._

_Why did I just run my mouth and blurt out a dumb question like that?_

 

 

“I do not stare at you.” He responds immediately, drawled in a bored tone of voice that say, quite frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn about your pitiful self-control.

 

 

_I feel like I'm about to crawl out of my skin. How can he be so calm?_

 

 

“Yes, you do." I argue automatically, pointing at him accusingly with the comb. "You’re watching me right now.”

He's quiet for so long that I think he might not answer, but then his eyes flick to mine.

“There is something about you that makes it hard to look away.” He locks both hands behind his head, leaning back and intertwining long fingers behind his neck.

He takes a moment to ponder his next words “More than that, I you are the first person in quite a long time that really cares about the people you are around. People you barely know.”

He pauses.

“You even care about me.”

“Oh…yeah…?” I say breathlessly. I can't deny it. 

“Yes.” It's authoritative, like a statement of fact and he doesn't elaborate any more than that. Then he's silent again. This time for so long that I think he's done talking.

 

 

_Maybe I managed to insult him somehow with the question, or perhaps with its inane delivery?_

 

 

“And why not?” He continues, and I jump a tiny bit, startled.

He sighs as if sensing my wordless interest, my need for him to elaborate, and dearly wishing not to as if lacking the energy for it.

“You are beautiful. Why not look at something beautiful while it is there?” He glances away from me as he says it, contradicting his words. 

 

 

_Wait. The…what…now??_

 

 

Knocked breathless, I feel every conflicting emotion in me rise up like a volcano, erupting into wild sparks and flares in my head.

The comb falls from numb fingers. 

“You think I’m beautiful?” The disbelief is obvious in my tone. 

My thoughts are explosions, nonsensical celebratory fireworks.

He turns back and looks at me for a long moment. “You are more intelligent and observant than you pretend. You know that I do.”

 

_I... do?_

 

I'm screaming it on the inside.

"You are beautiful and strange, interesting and puzzling... Why do you take the form of a human woman here?"

The euphoria of my high plummets about a hundred degrees.

 

 

_Shit._

_He always asks the thousand dollar questions, the damn smartypants…_

_Hey Solas, I'll show you mine if you show me yours…_

_Uh. Yeah, I'm gonna plead the fifth on this one._

 

 

“Why did you come here, to my dream?” I repeat my question from before, worded differently, both to see if I get a different answer and because it's the first thing that pops out of my mouth.

He nods slightly, almost to himself, as if he'd already fully expected me to avoid answering his question. “I felt your _distress_ and came to determine the cause. It was surprisingly easy to find you.”

“You ' _felt'_ my distress…”  It's more a statement than a question, but I say it anyway, already worried. There's not much of a chance that I'm going to like his response.

He hesitates infinitesimally, running a thumb along his jawline, ending at the sharp point of his chin and tapping thoughtfully a couple of times. “The sigil I added to your palm earlier this evening makes it easier to locate you, if you are in trouble.”

 

_Wait..._

 

“Wait. What are you taking about?”

He sighs quietly again. “You expressed concerns about your dreams, so I magically placed a marker on your hand that links you to my consciousness."

 

 

_Oh my butterball..._

_This even worse than I thought it would be._

 

 

“You can read my mind?” I cover my mouth with my hand to hide my horror.

“More accurately, I can sense your emotions.”

Adding to my horror, I'm starting to get mildly perturbed. “Let me get this straight… You added a magical tether-like thread attached to my emotions that helps you find me easily in the Fade?”

“Precisely.” He nods encouragingly, oblivious to my growing panic.

 

 

_Balls…_

 

 

Like ripping off a bandaid, I need to know. “What about _outside_ the Fade? Does this cord-thing work out there too?”

He doesn't say anything right away, instead, he shifts slightly on the couch, his body language suddenly screaming discomfort.

 

 

_Fuck a duck, there's my answer..._

_I sense an implied 'yes' dangling in the air like a fart._

 

 

“Solas! You had no right to do that! That's a serious invasion of my privacy!” My voice is high and loud, almost shrill.

 

 

_Not to mention… Oh my fucking starship..._

_Was he psychically tuned in during Sugar Cookie masturbation munchies?_

_Damn and blast it all, there's a part of me that hates what I did, but that whole encounter still heats my blood to think about it._

 

 

Channeling my inner discomfort, I'm on my feet and in front of him before I'm even aware of what I'm doing, my Vader robe blowing like a floor-length cape as I stomp up to the edge of the couch that he's still slouching/elegantly reclining upon.

He straightens his posture as I near, like he's avoiding our legs accidentally touching, and holds up his hand, palm facing out in a polite request to back off.

“It seemed at the time, to be the most efficient way to insure your safety both inside and outside of the Fade." He explains quickly. "You complained about the disturbing nature of your dreams and because of your obvious inexperience, I tried to help.”

“That's... You should have asked first!” My heart is racing and my palms are clammy; I wave my hands in the air, trying to dry the sweat, and obligingly back up a step.

 

 

_I would have said ' **hell no'**!_

 

 

“You are correct. I see that now and I apologize.” He bows his head and looks contrite.

 

 

_It looks like he really does regret it, but I'm still perturbed._

_Besides, apologies are like assholes, if there's too many of them you must be full of shit…_

 

“Well erase it! Take it off!” I shove my hand under his nose, gesturing wildly.

I must look like a possessed bride at a strip club during a raunchy bachelorette party, because he leans as far away as he can get.

As if my nearness is making him extremely uncomfortable.

He shakes his head, looking even more apologetic.

“I can't.”

 

 

_Maybe it's not my proximity... Maybe he's trying to escape the feeling of my panic induced wrath?_

_Fine._

_An experiment then..._

 

 

I zone in on him, focusing the entirely of my attention on him, and throw open the lid of my mental lockbox of lasciviousness, my safe of salaciousness, my vault of voraciousness– 

_Ahem– A_ nyway...

Honestly, I start out small. If what he's telling me is the truth, then this will be a teasing bit of torture for him, but it'll be just as bad for me as well.

Maybe even worse.

It's easy to switch gears, too easy since there is so little separating his skin from mine, just the thin barrier of clothing that does nothing to mask the lean curves of his body.

It's so little effort to imagine him hard and ready and wanting inside those leather pants, and picture myself laying my palm on the flat expanse of his lower belly.

I would lean over, just far enough to reach his button and zipper and yank that ridiculously tight leather of down and over his erection. The thick hard length of his shaft would bounce out, excited to be free, and I would grin, licking my lips in delight.

His muscles would contract and he would suck in a sharp breath. “We shouldn't,” he would say shaking his head. “It isn't right. Not even here.”

“Why not?” I would challenge, already dropping to my knees and smoothing my hand down the length of his cock, curling my fingers around the base.

He would exhale sharply and drop his own hands to my scalp, twisting his fingers in my hair. I wouldn't be able to stop myself from sliding my hand up and down the velvety length, shivering with pleasure at the sounds that would slip past his lips.

Maybe _wouldn't_ isn't the right word.

–In this fantasy I can do anything I want– 

And at this moment, touching him like this would be exactly what I want.

I would feel the tension and resistance melt out of him with each stroke of my hand. And then I would–

 

" **Stop.** "

The command is followed by a low growl that curls my fingers tight around empty air. It penetrates my thoughts and dissipates the fantasy, making my throat go dry.

 

 

_Speaking of resistance..._

 

 

I'm so flustered I don't even hear what he says next

I bite down on my lip hard, focusing on the pain. Trying to ignore animalistic urge to fall to my knees and taste him in reality.

 

 

_What would his desire taste like?_

 

 

He meets my eyes and something passes between us, this hot spark of carnal knowledge. I feel the undertones there, the unspoken things we'd both like to do to each other in the dark.

It makes it hard, really hard...

He raises an eyebrow and gives me a _look_ when he notices the direction of my gaze.

“Take. It. Off. Solas.” The words are a breathless demand. I pause between each for emphasis, and to get control of my lungs again.

 

 

_I'm not sure if I'm talking about the mark or his pants._

 

 

“I **cannot**.” He speaks between gritted teeth, his eyes dilated until they're nothing but a thin ring of blue around endless black. I can see his pulse, pulsing erratically in his neck, clearly from where I'm standing; there is no logical reason why I ought to feel so self-satisfied.

“What do you mean you can't?” I swallow hard. 

He straightens his shoulders, back in god/wolf/cranky ancient geezer mode.

“It will wear off over time, but it is irreversible.”

 

 

_Shit._

_Great big gobs of greasy, grimy gopher guts._

_Guts covered in shit._

_Shit made from mutilated monkey meat and gooey, gooey birdy feet._

_Gross...._

 

 

“How much time?” I'm surprised by the coherency of my second question because despite my gross out, half my brain is still more concerned with how good it might feel to get picked up by him, slammed into the nearest solid surface, and fucked until I'm as liquid as…

“I am uncertain.” His reply is quickly issued, as if he's intentionally trying to interrupt. As terse as he sounds, it appears that he's rapidly gaining control of himself again.

 

 

_Hmmmm. It seems that he was telling the truth and that my experiment was a rousing success._

_It was definitely **arousing**..._

_Focus!_

 

 

“You linked us with my permission and you don't know how long it will last?!?” I poke him in the chest once, incensed at his audacity and wanting to lash out. 

He doesn't stop me, so I do it again, harder.

“You. Had. No. Right.” With each emphatic pause I poke him again and again until I'm pushing him backwards into the couch with the force.

He doesn't flinch or wince. In fact, he shows no outward reaction at all.

I lose track of the exact number of times I poke him, cursing with a thoroughness that makes me proud. This goes on for awhile until it's one angry thrust of my finger too many and his hand snakes out to grab my wrist.

He catches my hand tightly, and I swear that something like fire licks up my spine.

“I am unused to being questioned.” There's a hint of anger in the way he stubbornly sets his jaw.

“Well, get used to it! You uptight, pretentious, bootlicking asshole! I'm not impressed no matter how much starch you shove up your–”

He stands swiftly and suddenly, towering over me, glaring down at me with nostrils flaring in irritation. I'm immediately aware of exactly how much bigger he is than me, but it take more than a few inches in height and deliciously broad shoulders to make me back down.

Tension thrums between us, alive as an electric wire.

“You don't intimidate me.” I spit out, staring at him defiantly, my words sounding more certain and brave than I really feel.

He takes a step forward, narrowing the space between us and crowding me, almost pressing our bodies together. I see something struggling behind the mask of civility. Something that calls to me on a purely chemical level, threatening to consume me whole.

Something that he's trying very hard to smooth away.

 

 

_Simmer down there, fire crotch!_

 

 

I raise both of my hands, chest level, with the intention of pushing him back a foot or two for breathing room, but he gropes for a hold on my wrists, to secure them before I can. Frustrated, I bat his hands away, so he grabs ahold of my shoulders instead, fingers biting in hard.

For the second time in a short amount of time, I shrug him off, but this time his head snaps to one side, my open handed slap catching him full in the mouth.

 

 

_Oh. Fucking crappy crap. I didn't mean to do that!_

 

 

He surges forward, like a ravenous shark scenting fresh blood in the water. I feel his whole body tighten, he moves faster than I can track, his hands trapping me tight, his fingers are steel bands around my forearms.

He keeps his face turned away from mine so that I can't see his expression, but I can hear him grinding his teeth together.

“If you hit me again, I will push you down in this dirt and I will _punish_  you.” His voice sounds hard and dangerous, and he give me a harsh shake.

My heart nearly explodes.

He feels dangerous when he's like this. He always does just a little bit, but especially so right now, in this moment.

 If I had panties on, they'd be soaked. 

 

 

_Oh how I wish I could masturbate to him saying that over and over..._

 

 

The thought makes me stop struggling.

“Good, you understand.” He relaxes slightly. “I do not wish to hurt you.” When I'm still for long enough he lets me go, easing his grip on my arms and smoothing his hands over the places where he had pressed tight enough to bruise, before dropping them to his sides.

One of us is trembling, maybe both of us.

His touch calls to the dark desires whispering beneath my skin.

“Please…” My voice catches on the word, my heart pumping with lingering anger, and a whole lot of something else, pushing any fear aside. 

 

 

_I want him, want him so bad._

_Have I ever wanted anything this much?_

 

 

He looks at me, eyes narrowing in warning as if sensing the whispers of my desire, but I plow on ahead.

“Yes…” I'm willing.

Those beautiful eyes captivate mine, as dark as a midnight sky, and for a moment the world stills. I'm close enough to him to feel his chest fumble with the hint of a snarl.

Time stops.

My heart races.

His breathing changes, jaw working, behind a tight frown.

It's a moment straight out of a romance novel, and I never want it to end.

 

 

_All that's missing is my heaving bosom and his turgid, engorged member._

_Oh wait — I glance down and between us…_

_We have those two nailed._

 

 

The tension is so thick as we stare at each other in silence, drinking each other in. My trembling increases until my legs buckle, and he uses that weakness to force me to my knees.

“Solas..” I breath in what I think is meant to be a protest? I don't know. It comes out sounding sexy as fuck, which I doubt is what I'd meant to happen.

He stands like that, still as a statue with his chin raised like a king and me at his feet, eyes closed as he takes a deep breath, as if savoring the experience.

 

_Like a king... Or like a god..._

 

It's too much, my feelings are too intense.

I look away, down at my hands balled into fists.

 

 

_What am I doing?_

 

 

His fingers touch my chin, lifting my head up. I jump at the unexpected touch, the warmth radiating from his fingers, spreading over my neck and heating my cheeks.

He blinks, surprised, recovering swiftly but I can see the glint of cold calculation reflected in his eyes as he brushes the hair from my face, tucking it behind my ear.

“You have been here only _days,_  and still, you have changed, _everything_...”

My face flames bright, all the way to my forehead, and there's a strange, scratchy feeling tickling my heart. 

He turns to face me, tilting his chin down. “Do you know how much you test me?” He whispers, almost to himself. "How much you  _tempt_ me," he continues quietly, his finger dragging up to the corner of my mouth and then tracing along the slope of my cheekbone. When his long fingers thread into my hair, gripping my skull, I have to swallow against the urge to climb up his body and demand more. 

 

 

_I don't know if that would work in my favor, or make him stop altogether._

 

 

His sudden laughter is like rough nails raking down my spine, painful but almost … pleasurable at the same time.

“You and I share a sin. Do you know what it is?” The tone of his voice is smooth like silk, but it's still undeniably tight, like every word is straining to exit his mouth.

After a moment, I realize that he actually wants me to hazard a guess. I just shake my head wordlessly.

“It's pride.”

 

 

_With you, isn't it always?_

 

 

“You, in thinking to escape with all your precious secrets intact. Mine, in my power to withstand the temptation of _forcing_ you to relinquish them.”

The words nudge my memory, same as his scent. 

It's almost orgasmic.

His dark eyes flare, and he draws in a deep breath as he crouches down, leaning in closer, his eyes drifting south.

Towards my lips.

 

 

_Oh._

_Oh, this is a thing. A thing that's actually FINALLY happening._

_Yesssssss!!!!_

 

 

We're so close that I can feel the warmth of his breath ghosting over my lips. All I have to do is lean another inch and I will be kissing, actually kissing, like _real life_  kissing the man I've had more sex dreams about than I would ever admit to.

He turns his head slightly, brushing his face lightly against my cheek in an almost feline sign of affection. “We are out of time,” he murmurs into my ear, his hands bracing on either side of my head, cupping my jaw. 

I'm about to question him when he turns my head harshly to the side and those lovely lips descend onto my neck, pressing a hot kiss over my pulse point before grabbing a small bit of my flesh between his teeth and sucking with a sharp pull.

My breath comes out in a rush, sounding a whole lot like a moan, and I get lost in the sensation of his body pressed against mine, the tight embrace. I rub against him restlessly, my hands exploring his broad shoulders, greedily soaking up everything I can touch while he allows it, somehow knowing that he's going to pull away.

I know it's gonna happen, I just **know**  it, but I'm still disappointed when he leans back.

There's another inscrutable expression on his face. I think he's going to say something else, but then, the fucking bastard just winks at me and disappears with a small gesture of his hand.

 

_He did **not** just do that! _

 

I sit there speechless, my jaw flapping in the wind like the flabby upper arm-wings on a naked eighty year old granny.

My heart is still stuttering and skipping, all the tiny fine hairs on my neck standing on end.

 

 

_I want a do-over. I want a rewrite._

_A reboot, right the fuck, now._

_Do you freaking hear me, Fate?!?_

 

 

I want to start from the beginning, from when he first appeared. I want to lay together under the open sky and I let go of the fear and the pain of this place.

I want to give myself to Solas.

It would be beautiful...

 

 

_Goddamn it!_

_Why can't my life be a bodice-ripping romance novel?_

_Or even better, just straight up hardcore erotica!_

 

 

I collapse flat on my back in utter defeat.

 

 

_I have to fix this._

_I have to save him._

_And yes, I will save this damn world in the process._

 

 

The grass is plush and comfortable under my head, and I feel my eyelids getting heavy with exhaustion.

Without the normal sounds of birds chirping, it's not quite the same as listening to a calming nature soundtrack, but with the breeze rustling Creeper's leaves nearby, it's pretty darn close. 

My blinking gets slower and slower...

My eyelids getting heavier and heavier...

Until I'm surrounded in blackness...

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm here, sitting in my corner again, completely faking my casual coolness while I wait with baited breath for your feedback. 
> 
> I've added chairs this time, so come and join me! Tell me what you thought of this chapter, I'm dying to hear what ya'll think!!!
> 
> <3


	25. Dawn of the Dead(ly Dong)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beautiful Ballers <3
> 
> It's Sunday (my one day off) which means - you guessed it - Sunday Funday!!! Here's a chapter! 
> 
> I love you <3

 

Dim light slanting across my eyelids draws me out of a heavy cotton sleep.  _Another day..._   _What new fresh hell is in store?_ I give my tired, leaden body a few more motionless minutes before making myself do anything, listening to the faint sounds of Haven stirring from its slumber. 

Good Morning Thedas. Good Morning Haven.

How quickly I get used to things. 

It doesn't even come as a shock anymore...

 

 

_How early is it? It's still dark enough, and Tiny hasn't come with breakfast, so pre-dawn I'm guessing?_

 

 

Stranded without an alarm, I'm glad I didn't oversleep. An irritatable, heavily armored, and non-caffinated Commander is not the way I'd prefer to begin my morning.

Besides, I'm sure I'll see more than enough of him later, while he's beating my skinny, elf ass into the ground.

 

 

_Maybe it won't be one on one training... Maybe he'll just stick me in line with the other recruits, or pair me up with another unsuspecting newbie soldier._

_One can only hope... Or beseech Fate to take it easy on me today._

_Either way, I should probably get a move on._

_I totally will, in five more minutes..._

 

 

My head feels foggy and groggy, the cloudiness thicker than a bull’s dick, and my throat’s sore like I've been sleeping with my mouth open. I run my tongue across mildly scummy teeth with distaste, already looking forward to another dip into the sacred jar of mint paste.

 

 

_A HUGE cup of coffee sounds AMAZING. My blood just isn't the same without my usual morning dose._

_If only caffeine existed here..._

_Hell, I'd probably voluntarily chew on coffee grounds at this point, if it was offered._

 

 

The sleep haze starts to lift and my hand goes exploring. It finds a man's lean chest, firm with baby muscles, a sweeping ladder of ribs, a lightly ridged abdomen, and a...

I roll my eyes behind my lids and sigh.

 

_Yes, Good Morning to you too, Donger the Diabolically Disastrous, Dingleberry Dickhead._

 

  
I open my eyelids a crack, catching the bob that happens as my body pushes a fresh pulse of blood to my groin. A bob that could otherwise be confused for a cheerful, answering nod of returned greeting if we weren't talking about a penis.

Great.

Is this an every morning thing that I should start expecting and planning for, or just after dreaming about Solas?

 

 

_Is there a way to block a Fade master from dream invasion?_

 

 

I rub thumbs into my eyesockets just under my eyebrows, with firm, irritated strokes, before giving my tent pole a scathing glare.

 

  
_Although, with posture that straight, Donger could be confused for a tyrant warlord, overseeing his two roundly rotund minions._

_El Guapo, The Handsome, looking down on his underlings condescendingly, yelling and spitting with disdain. '¿Dónde está el baño?'_

_(Hey, I only know one phrase, remember?)_

 

  
Speaking of... A bathroom break sounds good right about now, and if my brain's coherent enough for that brief foray into imagination land, then it's past time to get up.

With ease that comes with way too much fucking practice, I ignore my rampant erection, stretching my neck and arms over my head until I feel my spine crack a few times. Propping myself up on an elbow, I message the tense muscles at the base of my skull. 

Does Thedas have a message therapist?

I blink, trying to adjust to the morning light, shapes slowly coming into focus. Then, I snap to awareness so fast a bolt of pain pierces my temple, behind my right eye, when I notice a small feminine hand hovering near my hip.

  
Way too close to where El Guapo is still trying to issue orders.

  
“Here, let me help you with that.” It's breathless, sultry, and slightly familiar.

“What? **No**!” I'm up and scrambling backwards on the bed, pressing bare ass cheeks against the wooden wall, my gaze leaping to the owner of the overly-friendly hand.

 

  
_Going to bed naked is having some unforeseen ramifications…_

 

  
It's the overly-friendly serving girl from the tavern.

Why is she here? How long has she been standing there just staring at me?

Taking in the heightened color on her cheeks, I'm guessing long enough to be creepy.

 

 

_Why is every moment of my life so damn dramatic?_

_Can't I just have a boring morning where my greatest challenge is trying to figure out the proper way to where diaper underwear?_

 

 

“Where's Tiny? I thought _she_ was supposed to be the one bringing my food.” I snap in irritation at my unwelcome visitor.

"Are you talking about that little timid bunny that came running and crying to everyone about you yesterday?”

 

_She did? Or is this girl just saying that she did?_

 

At my nod, she continues. “Oh don't you worry none about that, I offered to be the one to wake you.”

She looks at me hungrily, her gaze locked in a staring match with my one-eyed monster.

 

  
_Oh for the love of…_

 

  
I grab the blanket, clutching it in front of my crotch like armor.

 

  
_I'm starting to understand Cullen's frequent state of mind..._

_I'd rather not, this is uncomfortable._

 

  
She glances back up at my face, smoothing down her blonde curls and adjusting her bodice to sit even lower, threatening to spill her voluptuous twins right out of their cloth barrier.

“I'm more than happy to entertain the affections of such a handsome elf as yourself,” her voice drops to a seductive purr and she moves closer.

I jerk to the side, further away from her, sliding my ass across rough wood with a sharp gasp of pure panic. It catches in my throat, threatening to choke me, and for a moment I can't think at all.

 

  
_This whole experience is so alien it frequently shreds my brain of coherency._

 

“I heard the rumours, but seeing you in person, seeing _all of you_ , I'm more than happy to entertain ANY affections.” Her eyes move back to where I've hidden my penis. She breathes in deeply and let's out a contented, fluttering sigh.

 

_Really?_

_My lovely lady lumps, she's forward. I don't even know her name because the wierdo didn't even introduce herself before propositioning me!_

 

  
“No, thank you,” I say, ignoring bobbing acquiescence of my throbbing dick nestled into the softness of the blanket clutched in my hands.

She looks crestfallen and I feel a little bad for rejecting her. Not bad enough to accept what she's offering, but...

“I'm afraid I'm overdue for an appointment,” I add, by way of explanation.

She bites her plump lip in obvious disappointment.

 

_Oh geez, Louise._

_Get over it._

_I'm not the only male here, and she's cute, I'm sure there'd be plenty of takers if she pointed those gallon milk jugs somewhere else._

 

“I'm sorry...” I say politely, still doing my best to extract myself from this awkward situation with more grace than I managed yesterday morning.

There. I can be magnanimous, but I can still feel myself quickly running out of patience with her lingering glances. She's just not getting it.

It doesn't look like she's giving up.

Maybe she's never been turned down before?

“But…” She reaches out for me, but I guessed right and I'm prepared for the movement, shifting the blanket to one hand and catching her wrist before she can get close enough to succeed.

“I did not give you permission to touch me,” I say sternly, channeling my inner hobo and doing my best to look as intimidating as I can while nude and holding a blanket shield.

She simpers a minute, until I squeeze the fragile wrists bones a fraction, then finally, she nods her understanding.

“I'm awake now, you can go,” I say, my voice sounding strangely calm in my ears. 

 

_I should channel hobo more often._

 

Releasing my grip, I let her pull her hand away, and she massages it gingerly, looking at me like I just rudely told her to fuck off. 

"All you had to do was say you weren't interested," she mutters sourly, tossing her curls back over her shoulder in a huff.

 

 

_Okay, forget it. I think my hobo is broken._

_I did. Repeatedly. Maybe all that lust was clogging your ears..._

 

  
I mumble an apology anyway, or at least I think that I do. I doubt she hears it over the sound of my door slamming shut behind her. I hope she caught her fingers in her tantrum. 

 Stop. That's unkind. 

 

 

_Well, that went over about as well as peeling out of the driveway whilst flipping off my ninety-five year old neighbor._

_Yep. Today is already looking to be a fun one._

_Still better than yesterday? Maybe?_

 

  
I drop the blanket on the bed, no longer needing a buffer against unwanted, girly attentions. Getting up and about with a small groan of protest and a few random pops of my joints, I start rummaging through the chest, looking for my days attire.

My fleshy tyrant companion coming along for the ride.

 

  
_I guess I'll never be lonely with El Guapo Donger here to keep my company..._

_I'd so freaking rather be lonely._

 

  
I find a shirt and pants, the latter again being leather, but both look more like regular clothes then weirdo pajamas. Deciding to forgo the diaper and just go commando until I can find a willing participant to demonstrate the proper diaper folding technique, I lay my selected clothes across my bed and waddle over to Chippy, ready to continue my new and improved morning routine.

Starting with the beloved paste of awesomeness.

 

  
_It feels like I'm carrying sharp pointy stones around in my ball sack…_

_Fucking owwww…_

 

  
Ignoring my discomfort is difficult, but I manage. I hurry through a wipe down, avoiding the eyeballs of Fenris Twin in the mirror; I'm not ready or comfortable enough with the stranger I see.

Besides, being sexually attracted to myself is just plain wierd.

 

 

_I'm starting to regret my taste in Dragon Age men…_

 

  
Speaking of...

I had another dream starring our cranky apostate, and that seems to be becoming a disturbing pattern...

Was it real Solas this time or Dream/Demon Solas?

  
_He sure felt real._

  
And that hardness pressed against my belly sure felt real too.

  
_Don't._

_Just don't even start._

 

Cupping my hands together, I collect some water and splash my face with the freezing, icicle liquid. As the chilly droplets run down my cheeks and drip from my jaw to my bare shoulders, I grab the smaller square of linen and scrub my face dry. Already in the process of folding and returning it back in place, I open my eyes and my gaze catches on a comb that must have been lying underneath the cloth all along. 

  
_Wait. That's..._

  
THE BONE COMB. The one that he imagined into existence in the dream. The one that absolutely wasn't here when I fell into an exhausted sleep last night.

How did it get here?

I freeze in the middle of reaching for it, wheels turning in my brain.

 

  
_Was he here?_

 

  
I'm... I don't know how I feel, so I redirect my attention to oral hygiene. The last thing I want is to find out what passes for a dentist around here.

I imagine a Johnny Depp, Sweeney Todd with an oversized pair of pliers and a maniacal smile, with a shudder.

Nope.

At least one good reason why my new super dangerous and life-threatening lifestyle has a silver lining. I'll probably be long dead before I have to worry about a root canal.

 

  
_Well, that's a bit of a bummer._

_How about redirecting all that sourpuss into something more constructive?_

 

  
I sigh quietly and dip my brush into minty goodness, slathering it onto my teeth with forced gusto. I'm focusing on getting each and every tooth clean as a whistle when there's a knock on my door.

I start to turn, ready to garble out some words around my toothbrush, but the door opens before I can say anything.

 

Note to self:

  * I need a lock on my door or a guard posted. This is getting ridiculous.
  * Start the day **by putting clothes on** or get used to the idea of **everyone** in Thedas seeing me naked.



  
“Well Loopy, another day, another lady leaving your room in a rush. Keep up this pace and soon you'll be getting quite the reputation.” Varric walks through the doorway.

The sudden tightness in my shoulders relaxes at the sound of his voice, not really caring that it's him seeing my bare butt. I glance up in the mirror, catching the teasing grin on his face and shrug, swishing and spitting into the cup beside Chippy.

 

_Whatever. This body's in reasonably good shape, there's nothing to be overly self-conscious about._

_Plus, Varric's already seen me naked, and in much more embarrassing circumstances..._

 

“She seems to like you,” he continues, leaning casually against the doorframe.

I take the time to dry my mouth and set the brush down carefully, before turning. “The feeling is not mutual,” I retort vehemently. 

His eyes widen and his smile falters at my movement, his jaw slackening in surprise for a second before he recovers.

“And now I'm beginning to see why,” he finishes his thought, disregarding my comment.

 

  
_What?_

 

I glance down.

 

_Oh for heavens sake! **Still**??_

 

  
'¿Dónde está el baño?', is the imaginary reply to my question, complete with yet another bobbling wave.

  
**Go away!**

  
“Sorry, Loopy, I didn't mean to intrude...” Varric says carefully, looking surprised and hurt.

 

  
_I didn't mean…_

_Fluttering frog farts! That wasn't meant to be out loud!_

 

  
“Shit! No! I wasn't talking to you, I was talking to him!” I gesture downward, poking a finger at Donger with disgust.

“You're… talking... to your... erection?” He asks slowly in clear disbelief.

“Yes! I don't know what to do with it!” I plant my curled fists on my hips, knowing that if I don't, I might just hit something. Either that, or I'll commence to waving them around for emphasis like a madman/madwoman/madperson.

“You can start by pointing that thing somewhere else.” He bites his lips together, like he's trying not to laugh at me.

“I mean he's always freaking hard,” I rant, beginning to pace in my frustration. “How am I supposed to deal with that?‘’

He looks at me startled.

“You find a way to regularly release some tension,” he answers my question like its obvious, as if he's speaking to a child.

“How?”

“Well, when two people love each other…” He begins and I struggle against the violent urge to slap him.

“Cut the shit, Varric,” I interrupt before he can get any farther.

I size him up, giving him the hairy eyeball before continuing, the warning in my voice is impossible to ignore. “Be careful, or I'll give you a nickname too. Squat is sounding particularly good at the moment…”

“Okay, okay.” He holds up his hands obligingly, in mock surrender.

“It's pretty simple, Loopy, just find yourself a willing young lady…” He pauses, trailing off as he looks the direction Crassypants left in all her hufflepuff glory. “Or in your case, a strapping young man…”

“That's… You can't possibly know that. You've only spent a few days with me!” I say, crossing my arms over my chest defensively. “I'm not that obvious!”

 

 

_Oh hobbling gobble god, I **am** that obvious aren't I?_

 

  
“It's nothing to be ashamed of, it doesn't bother me. You don't exactly seem the shy type, but if you don't want to seek someone out, you can always take matters into your own hands. Either way, I'm sure you'll find the solution without very much effort.” He pauses as if rethinking his words. “Alright, maybe _some_ effort, since the process requires a certain level of activity.”

He clears his throat uncomfortably.

“And on that note, I'll wait for you outside. Feel free to join me after you've finished.” He clears his throat again. “With whatever,” is his parting comment as he ducks out of the door, closing it firmly behind him.

 

  
_Well. It's just me and you again, El Donger._

 

  
The lyrics just pop into my head randomly, and I roll my eyes at myself.

 

>   
>  Sky is the limit,
> 
> Push to the finish.
> 
> Me and you against the world.

 

  
I'm pretty sure that humming a song, usually played at weddings, to my erect penis qualifies as fucked up with a capital 'F'.

 

 

_Varric's suggestion about taking matters into my own hands... That's something to contemplate._

_Should I?_

_To masturbate or not to masturbate, that is the question._

 

  
I'm also pretty certain that Shakespeare would cry until he could drown himself in his own puddle of tears, to hear me use his deeply thought out words in such a fashion.

Siiiiiiiiiiiigggggghhhhh…

If the dream **was**  real, and I now have very little doubt that it was, then I also still have that pesky psychic link with Solas to worry about.

 

  
_Yep. The sneaky bald bastard..._

_Marking me, with his magic on my hand and his teeth on my neck, and then disappearing and leaving me hanging and aching for him._

_Is revenge by buffing the banana an actual thing?_ _Ever?_

 

  
Honestly, that's what decides me.

Picturing him alone in his cottage, stirring awake to these feelings, with total confusion. Or even better yet, already out and about when waves of pleasure grip his cock without warning. **Or even better yet,** unable to re-adjust with so many curious eyes around and unable to stop himself, he'd find a secluded location and wrap those strong, capable fingers around hard, swollen flesh.

Speaking of gripping dicks and waves of pleasure…

I'm a little ashamed at how damn fast I shoot my load. All it takes is a few tugs and pumps with the mental image locked behind my eyelids, of his face as he struggles, fighting against the connection that **he**  wanted, resisting until he just can't anymore and loses that perfect control.

 

 

_How strong would the secondhand sensations be for him?_

_Would they be enough to do that? Make him come in his pants like a first-time virgin?_

 

 

I cut off that train of thought before it can go any farther, already feeling the stirrings of renewed passon.

 

  
_Seriously?_

_Don't men usually need recharging time?_

_Fuck!_

_**Backwash in a clear bottle, with popcorn kernels floating in it.** _

_**The ripe smell of rotting garbage during a Texas summer.** _

_**Counting the individual pieces of undigested food in a pile of dog vomit.** _

  
_Ewwwwwwww. That's just so damn nasty!_

  
But it works, and for that I'm eternally grateful. With clinical detachment I clean up my mess and pull on my clothes, happily tucking a slumbering nemesis in place before lacing up my pants and buckling on my stolen belt.

 

Another note to self:

  * Find time for retail therapy. The silly vendor/man should be 'available' to sell me shit since I'm technically past the intro to the 'game', and I still need to find a pouch to hold inventory.
  * I wonder if he sells frumpy sweaters?
  * But before anything else, dónde the baño!



 

Running a hand through my shorn hair, I ruffle it up until I can feel it standing up from my scalp in haphazard spikes. Finished with the super-fun getting-ready portion of my morning, I head towards the door, only to stop short before I reach it.

Halting in place, I turn back around and without analyzing my actions too much, I stride back to Chippy the washbasin and scoop up the comb.

After dusting an empty shelf with my sleeve, I place it with careful reference on my bookcase. Why I'm taking the time for this when there are more important things I should be doing?

 Shhhhhhhh. Don't.

 

  
_So delicately carved, it's almost a piece of art._

_I wonder what kind of bone it is?_

 

 

My stomach grumbles grumpily, reminding me in a poignant and prominent way that it would really, really like to eat breakfast. So, without any more preamble, I say a swift farewell to my first prized possession and head outside in search of sustenance.

Because for the second day in a row, my so-called room service ended in epic failure.

 

  
_And this time the girl didn't even bother bringing any food with her. She must have been absolutely certain of her charms..._

 

  
A self-satisfied smile breaks across my face.

Varric is waiting patiently for me, and he falls companionly into step at my side, noticing but not commenting on my smile.

I'm glad he doesn't ask.

I don't want to admit that rejecting the advances of Crassypants this morning, followed by cranking one out and torturing Solas in the process, has put me in a cheerfully excellent mood.

He's probably aware of at least one reason, but I'd prefer to keep the others to myself.

We head down the natural path that winds its way in front of my cottage, worn into existence from the soles of frequent feet. We don't get very far before an idea pops into my head like an LED lightbulb, and I grab his elbow.

“Hey Hotshot, do me a favor please.”

He raises his eyebrow. “Hotshot?”

“Yeah, you know… because of the big crossbow and all the shooting?”

He just stares at me in judgey, disapproving silence.

“Fine. Nevermind…”

“What's the favor?” He asks it grudgingly. 

I blurt out the rest before he can change his mind. “Grab me, or us if you haven't had the chance yet, a quick bite to eat. Pretty please! I'm starving!”

 

 

_And avoiding a certain waitress that shall remain nameless._

 

 

He looks at me with a regretful wince. “We don't really have the time today, Loopy. I'm sorry, but the Commander is the one who sent me after you this time. Trust me, you don't want to push his buttons, he's been really… forgiving… so far.”

 

  
_Actually, I'm pretty sure that I'd **love** to push some of those sugar-coated gingerbread cookie buttons…_

_Stop._

 

“That's why I said a 'quick bite'…” I restate obstinately, ready to keep discussing/debating this until I win.

It's like he can sense my stubborness, he already looks hesitant, as if he's about to give in. “And what are you going to be doing while I'm fetching this 'bite'?”

“I'm going to dónde the..." I pause, snorting at myself. “I'm gonna find the toilets.”

“Okay, I'll do it.” He holds up his hand, stopping me in the middle of my fist pump. “But if Curly starts yelling, I'm pushing you right in his path.”

“Don't worry, it'll be fine. I can handle Cullen.”

I can see, as soon as I finish speaking, that neither of us believe what I just said. I can feel all traces of humor sliding off my face the second I realize the actual gravity of what's ahead. I hadn't put much thought into it. The only reason I've been this upbeat and flippant is because my morning was surprising, irritating, and... distracting...

I hadn't been paying attention exactly which path we were taking before this favor conversation began, but now I can feel the anxiety creeping over the majority of the muscles in my body.

Headed to the training yard.

 

 

_Oh cranberry crap strudels…_

 

 

My gut cramps with a sudden case of twisty crawlies. I'm nauseated enough that I couldn't get an erection right now, even if Solas was naked and interested.

Silver lining. There's always a silver lining.

Sometimes it just feels more like a silver bullet right to the chest, than a fricking lining.

Varric reaches over and pats my tense biscep consolingly.

“For what it's worth, I don't think he'll hurt you **too** badly. We still need you to close all those rifts.”

“Thanks, I feel _much_  better now,” I mutter sarcastically at the back of his retreating head. Turning a different direction, I head toward the latrines I hid in yesterday, glad that my crowd of fungus fans are nowhere to be seen.

 

 

_Maybe they stayed awake too late last night, drawing fungus-inspired fanart, and are still comatose to the world._

_I can only hope they stay that way until afternoon, after my morning exercise/training/punishment is over._

_I'd rather not have an audience for that._

 

 

I trudge along, dragging one hundred-pound foot after another, feeling completely and totaly depressed. That is, until I spy something that lifts my spirits a thousand times over, making my heart sing in delight. I practically skip the rest of the way over.

Actually, I really do skip the whole way, not giving two shits if I look like a silly schoolgirl/schoolboy (schoolindividual) in the process.

Speaking of shit...

A certain Private Jackhole is currently knee-deep, shoveling what I can only assume is human waste by the smell.

 

_The aroma of feces is not **usually** the way I'd like to begin my day, but..._

 

“Wow! The view this morning is so spectacular, I don't think I could EVER get tired of it,” I say with gleefully, grating cheerfulness, standing back from the edge a few feet.

 

_I bet I can even see it from my window!_

_He'd better be here tomorrow too._

 

I notice the whole line of his back tense instantly, as his pauses mid-motion. The next shovel of sludge is done with a great bit more force than necessary.

“Fucking flat-ear,” he grumbles, glaring at me.

“Fucking rapist,” I sneer, glaring right back.

I watch his knuckles turn white on the handle. The venom shooting at me from his eyes tells me without words, that I have successfully made my very first enemy. Not a surprise.

“You don't know anything, Prick,” he fires the words at me, hatred spewing in spittle-laden glory.

I shrug.

“I'm the Herald of Andraste, and your opinion doesn't matter. **You** don't matter. Now, don't let me keep you from your _doodie_ …” I break off, unable to keep from laughing at his sour expression. “Oh, _excuse me_ , I meant **duty**. It's the perfect job for you so don't _shit_ on it.”

I'm still chortling over my own wit as I start to walk away, taking one final glance over my shoulder so that I can accurately remember this moment forever. When I do, I notice his grip changing on the shovel as obviously nefarious calculation crosses his features.

He's scheming.

 

_Dude. You've got nothing on the Trickster wolf._

_Don't even try._

 

  
“Hey watch your sass, Jack, or I'll skip the toilet and take a piss on your head.” I threaten, shouting the words over at him as I continue away to a safe distance, leaving him and his potential poop projectile behind.

 

  
_Yep. That man hates my guts. I have definitely made an enemy._

 

I'm sure he won't be my last…

 

_Get in line, Jack, I'm sure it will be a long one._

 

I'm leaving behind unfortunately wasted urine and exiting the latrines, when my lovely dwarf companion returns. He's sporting two calzone-shaped pies, one gingerly grasped in each hand.

 

_Oh my…_

 

Butter glistens in the morning light, and I stare at him hungrily, licking my lips in anticipation.

“Loopy, stop looking at me like that or Bianca will get jealous,” he says with a wink, handing over one of the pies.

I take a tester bite and find it almost cool enough to eat comfortably.

And, It. Is. **Good**. Heavenly, in fact.

 

_Butter Heaven, that should be a real place._

 

“She will just have to come to terms with my love for you,” I garble around the mouthfulls of flaky, meat-filled gloriousness that I'm shoveling in as fast as I can swallow.

He laughs, either in response to what I said, or at the spectacle I'm making while saying it.

“I'd tell you to slow down, but we're almost there.”

I look up from my pastry and notice where we've been wandering in wide-eyed horror, the bottom dropping out of my stomach as if I'm about to try skydiving for the first time. 

 

_Why do I feel like I've been involuntarily recruited for doomcamp? I'm not fixing to face off against Big Daddy Behemoth again, for goodness sakes._

_He's just a man. A REALLY big man._

 

  
I look down at the remains of my pie, no longer hungry. Pushing the rest of my food at Varric, before I puke.

His face falls. “Oh shit, I'm sorry!”

I shrug in acknowledgement of his apology, but my attention is no longer on him, my world narrowing to the golden head towering over anyone in the vicinity.

The world that halts and jumps slightly, every time Cullen issues another order. He's focused and collected, his voice ringing out clear and without hesitation, from the deep depths of his diaphragm, through his jaw, and out of his mouth.

That powerfully chiseled jaw dusted with stubble...

 

_Uh._

 

_No._

_I'm just not... I'm not ready for this yet._

 

 

“Loopy! Wait! Where are you going!?!”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU for reading and your continued interest in poor Lucy!
> 
> Now it's time to feed my comment addiction and tell me what you thought. Yea!!!
> 
> If ya'll have suggestions, I'm all ears. You never know what will click and inspire my brain with new ideas <3


	26. World Shakers and Mischief Makers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Baller Buddies!!!
> 
> It's nice to see you again for another Sunday Funday! Here's a chapter, so take a read and tell me whatcha think <3
> 
> *5/21 edit - Sorry! I found a capitalization error and my OCD wouldn't leave it alone <3

 

 

_A dwarf and an elf, who's lacking in stealth, getting into trouble sounds much more exciting than said elf getting smashed into the ground by an over-muscled, sugar-loaf oaf._

_I'd rather it start: a dwarf and an elf walk into a bar, but I think someone would run and tattle to the Commander..._

 

  
“Just in case anyone asks, this was not my idea,” Varric says in a whisper, crouched and looking around us anxiously.

His expression is so comical that I can't help but laugh, although I keep the volume down to a quiet chuckle. 

“Don't worry, V-man, if Solas catches us, I'll take full responsibility. I'll tell him that I carried you kicking and screaming all the way to his doorstep.” There's a grin dancing across my face and I know that my eyes are sparkling with mischief.

This isn't a game where I'm led around by a set quest list, railroaded into saying only certain things and accomplishing specific tasks.

This is my life, and I can say or do anything I desire!

 

 

_Well, maybe not everything I desire..._

 

 

Delaying my training seems like a damn good way to start. I might live to regret the slap on the wrist I might recieve later because of my blasé attitude, but at the moment I don't care.

If I've learned anything from living on Thedas, it's that things can crash and burn, or fall down steep ass hills, or get stabbed repeatedly with super sharp objects, or eaten by horned horrors at any time, so I'm going to try like hell to enjoy each minute.

Procrastination has never been more exciting, or fun!

 

 

_If I had know this before, earth-me would have leaped on it at each opportunity._

_Adulting can be such a drag..._

 

 

“Not that Chuckles isn't intimidating in his own right, but I'm talking more about Curly right now...” He even swallows nervously when he says it.

I can't help but look at him in shocked amazement.

 

 

_I'm just not getting it. I mean, I'm not blind, I know he's a gigantic badass and the Commander for good reason, but he's such an awkward, sentimental marshmallow on the inside._

_If I just saw Cullen in passing, on some random street back on Earth, I'd probably dislike him immediately. I'd assume he was an arrogant ass, just by his looks alone. But, I know differently- the sappy sap is real. I've played the game and I've seen him fall in love with my Inquisitor, so I guess that colors my view._

 

 

“You think Cullen is scarier than Solas? Really? Solas has magic, dude. Freaking **magic**!” I can't keep the disbelief out of my voice.

“Yes, all mages are dangerous, we're taught that from birth, and if you've heard anything about Hawke and his various companions, then you know that I respect the sentiment,” he trails off as if lost in his own memories for a moment.

I'm momentarily taken aback. I probably shouldn't be surprised by this point, but my Hawke was always a female.

 

 

_Yes, a chick who romanced Fenris. Every. Single. Time._

_I tried to go the Anders route, truly I did, but the broody elf with the amazing voice and the wickedly powerful magic always won out._

_Yes, I definitely have a type..._

 

 

Varric takes a deep breath and waves his hand in the air absentmindedly before speaking again. “I'm just saying, the Commander is not accustomed to frequent challenges to his authority, and this absolutely counts as a challenge. It is certainly going to _piss him off_.”

“Whatever.” I roll my eyes, brushing aside his worry, even though I know deep down that I damn well should be taking his caution seriously.

I clutch at my chest dramatically. “Like you said before, you guys still need me, so he'll have to find it in his heart to forgive the offense of my tardiness.”

 

 

_This won't take **that**  long..._

 

 

“Besides, we might be a little late for my epic beat down, I'm sure he'll get over it eventually.” I sniff derisively, wishing I could skip the whole 'educational' experience completely, wishing that Haven was big enough to get lost in the crowd and disappear off the radar for awhile.

“I guess it's your bruised ass on the line, but remember that I warned you.” He speaks the last slowly, pointing at me for emphasis.

I shrug and then elbow him playfully. “Warning noted, now can we focus on the breaking and entering now? Tiny can only provide a distraction for so long.”

“So that's where you disappeared to! Tiny? Are you talking about the first girl who ran from your room, like it was on fire? How in Thedas did you convince her to help you? The last I heard, she was not your biggest fan.”

 

 

_It wasn't easy…_

 

 

I tracked her down and found her slamming cookery around in the kitchens, ignoring the glare of the cleaver-wielding chef. She was in a fit of temper and almost slammed me right in the face with a pot before realizing it was me.

It turned out that she had good reason for her ire. Being overridden by a jug-wielding waitress with delusions of buttermilk grandeur and sent off on menial, unrelated tasks, made her hopping mad.

I don't blame her, I'd be pretty pissed too.

The best way to fix the situation that I can think of, is to bring it to Josephine's attention. I should have already thought of it, and I promise Tiny to do just that as my earliest opportunity. That settles her down enough for me to bring up why I tracked her down in the first place.

I can still hear her voice, shrill with nervousness, finally agreeing to my plan after the fifth repetition. I apparently am not the only one frequently intimidated by Solas, that's a small relief.

Now that I think about it, nobody talks to him much.

Everytime I've seen him since we've been in Haven, he's been alone, people nearby but not engaging. I'm not sure if that's a voluntary thing on his part, if he's intentionally put them off, or if they're subconsciously sensing the real self that he's suppressing.

 

 

_That's kinda sad..._

 

 

I frown a little at the memory, but then my mind shifts to Jack shoveling shit and I laugh out loud.

“I saved Tiny from a terrible situation with a spurt of pure badassery.” I strike a silly heroic pose. “And now I'm her White Knight.” I drop my hands back to my sides. “Or, at the very least, we're becoming friends. And friends do things for each other, like less stalling and more lockpicking for instance...”

Talking my not-so-subtle cue, he bends over the door knob. “I don't understand why we're breaking in, in the first place,” he mutters, pulling out his lockpicking tools and getting to work.

 

 

_Lucky rogue class specializations..._

 

 

It literally takes him less than a minute and I stare at him in mute awe.

“You. Are. Fucking. Amazing!” Okay, maybe not-so-mute awe.

“Stop flirting, Loopy, you're not my type,” he says, tucking the tools back in his belt pouch and opening the door.

 

 

_He has a pouch. I want a pouch too!_

 

 

“Promise to teach me and I'll stop.” I blink slowly, batting my eyelashes and giving him big, innocent Bambi eyes.

He looks back at me doubtfully.

“I'll put effort into _trying_ to stop.” I adjust my statement.

He doesn't reply, instead, he leaves me to follow after him through the doorway.

 

 

_That'd be sweet! If I can talk him into it, I could become a mage/rogue hybrid!_

_Ooooooooo… I want an animal companion! Can I have an animal companion too? Something like an all white dire wolf, big enough that folks would stare at our combined awesomeness and give me a very wide berth._

_I could name him Fen, Solas would hate that. And, he could sleep on a bed made entirely of soft ecru, right beside mine, keeping away all my unwanted visitors…_

_That'd be the AWESOMEST thing EVER!_

 

 

Varric is waiting for me just inside Solas' cottage, glancing around with curiosity. From his expression, I can tell that he's never been invited inside before, for tea and a chat, or anything else.

I brush past him so I can check out my obsession's abode for myself. It's an organized mess, with books and parchment stacked on every available surface, the overflow spilling out into more stacks on the floor.

 

 

_Where did he find so many books so fast? Did he bring them with him in some kind of magic bag of holding?_

_If that actually exists, fuck the pouch - I want one of those!_

 

 

As I survey the room, I find myself surprised. He's so fastidious, that I'd expected everything to be alphabetized by subject matter and the author's last name. Possibly a card catalogue written in ancient elven, warded by Cerberus.

 

 

_Both him and Cullen have that in common, I see…_

_Oh my farting floaties, **wards**! I'm glad the were no wards! That could have gone... bad. Very badly bad._

 

 

I get down to the searching, ignoring the urge to snoop more, feeling the pressure of time. Glancing around, I notice rather quickly that apart from all the books and paperwork, there are very few worldly possessions. I also realize with relief that there are even less places to store clothing.

Luck seems to be on my side at the moment because I find my prize in the first place that I look.

Solas has a chest that bears a striking resemblance to mine, at the foot of his rumpled bed. Throwing back the lid, I dive in, digging around until I find what I'm looking for near the bottom. Shaking out the folds with the snap of a person well-versed in the laundry arts, I take a critical look.

 

 

_Did he even **try**  to clean it?_

_It certainly doesn't look like it. Wierd..._

 

 

I let out a confused huff and fold the stained garment back into a neat bundle, rolling it tight until I can carry it in one hand. With my other, I shuffle and straighten the shifted clothing in the chest and shut the lid.

 

 

_There. Like I was never here._

 

 

Surveying the room again, one last time, my eyes snag on the rumpled bed. If I didn't have an audience of one, I'd walk over and sniff his pillow, in the hopes of catching another whiff of that addicting scent. But, since I'd have the embarrassing task of explaining my actions, I settle for just pulling up and straightening out his covers, smoothing away wrinkles with a fondness that I hope Varric doesn't notice.

 

 

_It's no hospital corners, but with only one free hand, it'll have to do._

_Why was it still unmade in the first place? Isn't this the kind of thing that maids do? I'm pretty sure there are maids here._

_Or are they afraid to come in here?_

 

 

“We broke in… for a _sweater_?” Varric shakes his head at me as if seriously questioning his choice in friends.

“I don't think I will ever understand you, Loopy,” he adds following me out the door as I leave, pausing to take a look around us carefully before crouching slightly to lock it again.

“Don't worry, I barely understand myself most of the time.” I pat his shoulder consolingly and then set off at a quick pace, thanking him for his assistance and then leaving him behind to consider my words and actions for himself.

I hurry along, thinking that if I look busy, I won't be accosted for chatter.

 

 

_Note to self:_

  * _Find time to go exploring and rescue a cute wolf baby._
  * _Maybe while I'm doing all that exploring, I'll spend some time rethinking my decision to stay._
  * _Maybe there's a daisy I can pluck the petals off? Should I, or Should I not?_



 

 

I can feel several sets of curious eyeballs on me the whole way back to my own cottage. I force myself to slow down and nod with a friendly smile, stilling the urge to hide the blood-stained sweater behind my back.

 

 

_Just be cool. Act casual._

_They have no idea what you're doing. You're the Herald on important business, for all they know._

 

 

I'm about halfway there when I lock gazes with a heavily armored woman across the stretch of snow, and my forced smile turns brittle.

Cassandra.

She glances up at the sun in silent contemplation for a heartbeat before looking back at me with a puzzled frown, her dark eyes sizing me up from boots to shirt collar and then honing in on the rolled up package in my palm.

 

 

_Yes, Nosey Nancy, I know I'm overdue for a cookie cutting._

 

 

Her eyes narrow, as if she can discern what I'm up to just by willpower alone. I take a hesitant step her direction, toying with the idea of somehow convincing her to takeover the reigns of my combat training from Cullen.

The idea that falls to pieces when she immediately changes her path mid-step and ducks in between a couple of tents, breaking our connection and solidifying my suspicions into a cold, hard fact.

She  **is**  avoiding me!

Why???

I had tried to rationalize it. Thinking that maybe I was just being too sensitive, and that possibly she's simply not the teaching type, but she hasn't sought me out, or even spoken to me really, since we got to Haven.

What did I do? I thought we had developed a hulk/sniffling-weakling kind of bond. This is unacceptable!

 

 

_Adding to the ever-growing self-list:_

  * _Corner Brassy Cassy and figure this out. Drama at every turn is getting tiresome with a capital 'T'._
  * _Once we leave for the Hinterlands, it'll be close quarters, and whatever this is, needs to be behind us._
  * _Freak out about who I'll actually be sharing a tent with **later**._



 

 

Once I reach the sort-of privacy of my sanctuary, I drop off the stained ecru bundle like it's burning a hole in my hand, stuffing it in bedside the comb to deal with eventually.

 

_Hopefully, Solas won't notice that it's missing before I have a chance to return it._

 

Burden unloaded, I take a brief second to enjoy the quiet. Down-time is in such short supply around here, I'm guessing that relaxing weekends are a thing of fairy tales. What I wouldn't give for a covered patio on a quiet Sunday afternoon, a cup of coffee at my elbow, and my sketch pad at my fingertips...

Well, I guess I'll have to be content with finally checking _one_  item off my mental to do list.

 

 

_Although, technically it's still a work in progress..._

_How do I remove bloodstains without bleach?_

_Maybe I'll ask Tiny, if she survived her encounter with Solas, she might have a few ideas._ _I imagine she's had plenty of practice, since Thedas and blood splatter go hand in hand, like a courting Amish couple._

 

 

I'm rushing out of my room with my newest problem still at the forefront of my mind, when…

" **There you are**!"

 

 

_Like the voice of an angry god booming down from the heavens._

_How can one voice be so loud **and**  gravelly, hoarse at the same time?_

 

 

The illustrious commander of the hour stomps my direction as soon as he spots my hunched shoulders, leaving an impressive trail of seriously deep footprints in the snow behind him. He's positively vibrating with restless energy. Usually it's a constructive energy, aimed at someone else, but the glowering expression on his face tells me that's not the case this time.

Towering over everyone else nearby, he looks like a proud, old-world Viking with that pale, golden, closely cropped hair.

 

 

_Holy hella halla-horn jello..._

_Even Chris Hemsworth could take notes, you know, for his next Thor appearance._

 

 

I stare in blank appreciation, wondering if I could convince Cullen to grow that shiny hair long, curious if it would look like strange macaroni/spaghetti noodles if I somehow did manage that impossible feat.

Wow. That is a whole lot of man coming at me fast.

 

_(That's what she said.)_

 

There's always something commanding about his presence, something that lingers in the wake of his ridiculously poofy cape.

 

 

_Soooooooo many feathers._

_Wow. Waaaaay more than I can remember._

_What on earth is the point?_

 

 

He has a powerful influence that shimmers and hovers in the air around him, or maybe that's his metal armor that now reflects a high-glossy silver, like it's been coated in clear lacquer.

When in the heckle speckle did he have time to polish that huge darn chestplate?

 

 

_That's it._

_Competence and efficiency are now officially considered curse words._

 

 

Sunlight glints of his chest, searing my eyeballs and monetarily blinding me enough that I don't see the someone about to bulldoze into me until it's almost too late to brace for impact.

I have half a second to take a breath and tense, before unseen hands from behind me grab both of my upper arms and drag me backwards out of the way, and through my still open doorway.

“Loopy, are you okay?” A gruff voice says in a concerned whisper near my shoulder.

 

 

_Where did he come from?_

_I thought I left him to continue his morning to do… Well, whatever Varric does all day._

 

 

The enormity of what I'm facing looms before me again, in shiny silver platemail.

Literally.

“Of course not!” I whisper back and then suck in a fortifying breath, filling my lungs with the sweet, icy mountain air before I march the rest of the way to meet my 'trainer'.

I take off, clipping my elbow on the side of my door in my rush, and shot-putting my body into a stumbling tumble. My head hits some unknown object with a decent thud and my vision is a wash with color and then darkness, all at the same time.

“Herald! Maker's breath... You... can’t even _walk_?”

Rolling over with a groan, I run my hand across my forehead. When my fingers brush a tender spot, pain springs back at me, sending another burst of light and darkness through my mind.

Hello headache, you can thank Mr. Clumsy Man-feet for your discomfort. 

 

_I've been walking around just fine all day, and this was a sum total of four feet._

_Seriously?!?_

_Even a level one commoner can accomplish that!_

 

I scramble to my feet in embarrassment, tucking my chin to my chest and quickly brushing myself off, averting my gaze and avoiding eye contact until I can get everything back under control.

 

_Here goes nothing..._

 

Ignoring the heat still present in my face, I try for levity, saluting him military-style. “Captain Cranky, I'm reporting for training, as per your instructions.”

“Actually, it's Commander,” he corrects automatically, without thought, his tone laced with a heavy dose of stern disapproval.

“Well, okay then, _Commander_ Cranky.”

He rubs a clenched fist between his eyebrows, like he's stilling the urge to beat me with it. Spreading his fingers he massages his temples, as if I've already given him the beginnings of a headache.

Or, since it's me we're talking about, more likely a full-blown epic migraine.

“I wouldn't want facts to get in the way of a perfectly good nickname.” I can't help adding matter of factly.

It was too good an opportunity to pass up.

 

 

_Fear is like KY Jelly, it keeps the wit flowing when everything else dries up._

 

 

He pauses the rubbing, peeking around his fingers at me, prompting me to give him my most winning and mischievous smile.

I know he's fighting an answering smile, I can tell from the tightness around his mouth. He doesn't give in, but when he drops his hand it definitely looks like the frown furrows are less pronounced.

 

 

_At least, I think so…_

 

 

“I believe my instructions were for you to meet me in the training yard, **not** for me to have to retrieve you.” His tone betrays zero humor.

 

_Uh oh. I'm I'm trouble…_

 

“Yes, I've been a very bad boy...” _No. Stop it. Reel it back in._

 

**Don't make a joke about spanking.**

**Don't make a joke about spanking.**

 

His eyebrows climb to his hairline.

 

_Shitty shitake, vegan-friendly kabobs..._

_Not again!!!_

_I've never had this much trouble with internal/external dialogue before, in my life!_

 

He seems shocked speechless, probably in shock from my idiocity, so I continue babbling.

“Well, time's a wasting Commander Cranks! Let's get a move on! Don't just stand there staring, we don't have all day!”

Blonde brows fall low over shimmering amber eyes, and I can hear a couple passes of grinding teeth.

 

 

_Another thing him and Solas have in common, that particular facial expression. I believe I frustrate the ever-loving hell out of them both._

_Maybe they're not all that different after all._

_They should be each other's sober/recovery coach after dealing with me... I swear I'm not trying to be difficult! At least, not most of the time..._

 

 

Taking my arm in a forceful, and unfortunately unromantic way, he leads/drags me all the way through town.

I do my best to keep up with his long strides, jogging awkwardly at his side, hardly surprised that townsfolk and soldiers scatter out of our way like a flock of terrified birds, a few even squeak like startled mice. There are whispers and snatches of things as we pass, which I ignore, sincerely doubting that anything they're saying is positive or encouraging.

We reach the training grounds quickly, the clank of clashing steel is loudly abrasive, and a little frightening.

 

 

_Oh, lord of the flies! I hope we don't start with swords!_

 

 

Expecting Cullen to drop his grip on my arm, I'm surprised when he bypasses his troops altogether. Instead, he leads me to a wide open space that's off to the side and out of the main camp area.

 

 

_I guess that makes sense since they've already began their morning training._

_Do they train like that all day, every day?_

_Probably..._ _What an unpleasant thought._

 

 

Once we reach the area he's apparently aiming for, he turns to me and claps two heavy hands on my shoulders, squeezing them. I can't tell if it's meant to be reassuring, but his grip is like iron so I flinch. He opens his mouth to say something...

“Not so tight, Sugar,” I cut in before he can get any words out.

He shoots me an angry look, but I don't care if he hits me. Anything to keep the looming trepidation at bay.

“Are you _that_  weak?” He says in amazement, like there's no way that could be possible. 

I keep my very few and far between moments of strength to myself. “I'm sure that is the shared opinion of many.”

He looks stubbornly resolute. “It seems that I have my work cut out for me then.”

Was that a brief flash of excitement at the challenge?

 

 

_Yes, you absolutely do._

_If you saw me in battle, you'd also probably be rethinking this whole idea._

 

 

Logically, I know that Cullen is one of the best teachers I could have. He obviously understands how to lead and how to fight, plus he can deliver instructions clearly. He wears the mantle of command like he was born for the role.

If only that was contagious...

 

 

_I guess I shouldn't be surprised, that's probably one of the reasons he's gotten where he is in this world._

 

 

The way I see it, every tip I get from the world-traveling, well-respected, templar-trained Commander Cullen Rutherford gets me that much closer to the uber badass that I've always wanted to be. That I _need_  to be.

If I could squeeze the knowledge out of his brain with my bare hands and suck on that sweet, sweet nectar, I would. 

 

 

_Not that I'd ever tell him that, in precisely those terms. That'd be super weird._

_(But accurate.)_

 

 

I realize then that, while I can still feel adrenaline coursing through my veins like blood, a surprising enveloping calm has descended upon me.

This is what I should do.

I've made my choice, and now it's time to see it through. I roll my shoulders and crack my neck from side to side, bouncing on my toes, my breathing slow and controlled as I wait for his cue. 

**Bring it.**

He's looking at me with a new sort of interest, his teeth flashing in a predatory smile. He cracks his neck too, but his version sounds way more imposing than mine.

 

 

_Why does he all of a sudden look like I've challenged him - ohhhhhhh well poppin' poop balls, I need to quit doing that!_

 

 

He reaches underneath feathers and unclasps his cape, laying it across a nearby crate. His teeth disappear as a serious, analytical expression starts to fall over his face, and I decide to press my advantage while I have the chance.

I don't think the opportunity is going to last long.

I start to grin at Cullen and spout more silly nonsense to try and keep things light. While I'm hurriedly sifting through my thoughts for the best candidate, he's unbuckling the straps to his chestplate, removing it with practiced ease, and stacking it neatly on top of the cape.

My grin freezes before I can finish the act.

 

 

_Okay..._

_I guess that makes sense since I'm not wearing armor._

 

 

“Are you ready?” He tosses the question out just as casually as he tosses his shirt onto the top of the stack.

I swallow my tongue.

 

_That is.… inappropriately hot._

 

While Varric oozes charm, Cassandra exudes contempt, and Solas projects complete composure, this man pours pure testosterone out of every pore.

His broad shoulders lead down to a very impressive chest, and all that leads down to a tapered waist full of ab muscles. Which are easy to count, since he’s shirtless.

 

 

_I'll never get tired of that view either..._

_Maybe he can stand shirtless **next**  to the shit-shoveling soldier?_

 

 

Why did he take off his shirt? It's fucking winter.

Am I supposed to take mine off too?

I'm frozen like an awkward, indecisive statue. 

The edge of his mouth curls up slightly.

 

_Ohhhhh… You Sneaky Sugar, you're doing this on purpose… You cheater, cheater, pumpkin eater!_

 

If only...

 

_Shut up. That doesn't even make sense._

 

He's waiting for my reaction, or my response, or _something_.

The wave of heat that radiates from my lower region, up my chest, and into my cheeks, is what thaws my stillness. The corresponding flush forcing me into action again.

I whip my shirt up and over my head, tossing it haphazardly to the side. The chill of the air, a welcome addition to cool down my too-warm skin.

He eyes me up and down with critical detachment before nodding.

“Good.” His words have a ring of finality to them, as if I just sealed my doom.

 

_Oh lordy, I haven't, have I?_

_Is this a mistake?_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come, pull up a bean bag chair and be part of my cuddly comment corner...
> 
> The more, the merrier! I love you all!!!
> 
> <3


	27. Another One Bites the Dust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Monday, Ballers!!!
> 
> I spent all day yesterday writing, so let's make today a Funday! Here's a chapter that I thought was pretty fun. 
> 
> <3

 

Exposing my heated skin to the cool air isn't enough, not by a long shot. I need a bucket of ice water, or a horse tranquilizer. Maybe even an elephant tranquilizer…

There's a half-naked Sugar sculpture directly in front of me, halos of bright morning sunlight outlining all that man mass like a halogen in a photography studio. The pace of my breathing speeds up: in and out, in and out; the air shuddering past my lips.–Yep, definitely elephant.–

I'm supposed to be looking at him.

He's expecting me to look at him.

I _want_ to look at him.

I can't look at him.

 

I don't know what to do.

 

 

_What was I thinking? I can’t do this. Fate is going to mess with me, I just know it. And there's an insanely high possibility that someone is going to get hurt._

_That someone being me._

_Calm, don't leave me now, I barely know your name! We've just been introduced!_

 

> _Heart, don't fail me now!_  
>  _Courage, don't desert me!_  
>  _Don't turn back now that we're here._  
>  _People always say_  
>  _Life is full of choices._  
>  _No one ever mentions fear!_

 

Sigh...

I'm not on a journey to my past. More like, this journey's going to kick my ass.

Double Sigh...

 

 

_Yep. Hello, weak knees. Glad to see you could join us._

_Fucking optimistic Anastasia and my geriatric joints..._

 

 

I take a deep breath and force myself to glance over at Cullen. His jaw is working back and forth as if he's either trying not to smile or he's biting his tongue off with sawing strokes: either way–

“Let's begin,” Cullen commands with the authority of a man whose done this many times before.

 

 

_Siiiiiiiiiiiigggggghhhhh times infinity._

_Let's just get this over with._

 

 

Honestly, once I get over the shirt-shock situation, it's really not so bad. He starts by showing me basic self-defense, like how to get away from someone grabbing my wrist. Since I've watched some YouTube videos before, and his instructions and demonstrations are special needs clear, it's pretty simple to pick up.

It's just like taking a class. With an instructor. An unavailable instructor. With pecs for _days_ and a really sweet set of scars on one of those exposed sides of beef he calls shoulders.

I need to remember to ask him about those one day. 

 

 

_I'm **sort of** over the shock…_

 

 

We practice the move over and over until I can successfully escape, even when he uses his full strength to trap and hold me.

Maybe his full strength? Possibly…

Totally doubtful, but it sure does make me feel better to pretend.

We keep practicing until the movements become natural. By the time we stop, I've learned how to escape from four different holds and the best places to hit to incompacitate someone and get away quickly.

We've been going at it for what seems like forever. I'm not certain exactly how long because I'm zero-part Navy Seal/Army Ranger and haven't mastered Cassandra's talent for gauging time by analyzing the sun.

Maybe I will eventually?

 

 

_And maybe I'll greet my first mastiff-sized spider with a hug, a kiss, and a fond pat on its rump._

_Maybe the next time Solas gets all sexy bossypants, I'll tell him to fuck off instead of holding my breath in anticipation._

_Maybe I'll turn my fungus fans into an army of darkness, and together we'll overtake Crusty Corey and all his creepy crystal-red clump-minions._

_Maybe I'll use my nonexistent chemistry knowledge and alchemically create a caffeine substitute using elfroot and deep mushrooms. I'll open up the first Starbucks and become a golden billionaire, turning fungus folks into a whole team of highly trained baristas to make drinks for me. Damn. Coffee excites me._

_Maybe instead of fighting huge, scary dragons, they'll imprint on me and I'll be the first Mother of Dragons in Thedas._

_Maybe I'll wake up tomorrow and there will be no more Lucifer and Donger, but just Lucy and... Dongette? Townsfolk and my companions can all take the day off from saving the world to celebrate, and have an epic snowball fight. Having experienced a couple inches of snow maybe four times in my life, of course I'd be an expert and trounce everyone._

_Maybe, any day now, my honors program, valedictorian brain  will kick in and I'll wow the masses with my rapier wit and SAT vocabulary, instead of muttering nonsensically around massive amounts of saliva while staring like a mindless zombie with a hormone imbalance._

_Maybe I can locate a Rogaine equivalent, and sneak some into Solas' bath soap. Then he can be the Hairy Hobo and I will no longer be hypnotized by the shiny gleam off his egg-head._

_The possibilities are endless..._

 

 

It looks like things are winding down. Cullen's doing some sort of stretching exercises that I am absolutely _not_ watching him do. Very thoroughly **not** watching.

Good. He's planning on ending this session soon.

His demeanor seems relaxed, as if he's relieved that I've caught on to his teaching methods without great pains, that I'm not a hopeless case.

 

 

_Whew. He's not the only one relieved..._

_I'm glad that's over, and not near as awful as I imagined._

 

 

"Very good, Herald. Next, we'll move on to grapples."

 

_What?!?_

_Nonononono…_

 

"Okay, great." I manage to not _completely_  coat the words in a bitingly sarcastic patina.

Barely.

He nods, accepting my half-hearted (at best) enthusiasm, and steps close enough that I'm staring at nipples. Circular,  well-shaped, dusky pink, erect man-nipples.

 

 

_NOT great._

_I'm not ready to move on, Chester Chestly, I'm ready to take a fricking nap._

_Maybe we could continue another day?_

 

 

I hadn't really thought through what to expect from Cullen's bootcamp. I'm not super keen on exercise in general, and I've plainly avoided thinking anything about it all together. I certainly hadn't predicted this next part of his itinerary, because grapples require a lot more… physical contact.

“We'll start at the beginning. Use what we've been practicing and escape this hold, but instead of stopping there, continue on and try to incompacitate me,” he commands while placing my resistant palms on his chest and locking his hands tight around my forearms.

“Oh wow,” I stammer, my fingers stiffly splayed.

 

 

_Don't. Pet. Chest. Hair._

 

 

Any other day, at any other time, I would have lost my mind at how sculpted his chest feels under my hands.

 

_Later._

_I'll freak out about feeling up his massive pecs later._

 

**If the rest of you feels half this good, I'm in for a treat.**

 

He tenses, and that tightens things further down lower in interesting ways.

I freeze.

“I said that–”

“Out loud. Yes, you did.” He looks half annoyed and half amused. The corner of his mouth twitches, which feels like amusement, although the corner of his eye does the same, and that is more like anger.

 

 

_Mother of Moses munching marigolds!_

_Is my brain to mouth filter getting worse over time instead of better? Enough already! That needs to stop asap!_

_It's not funny, it's embarrassing!_

 

 

Letting out an exhale, he shakes his head. Wisely changing tactics, he pushes my arms aside, coming around behind me he locks a forearm lightly around my throat.

 

_Better._

 

It sounds wierd to be glad when you're put into a chokehold. But, I'm glad we're starting with this chokehold instead of whatever the other plan was, because it gives me some time to get my face under control.

 

 

_I'm attracted to Cullen. It's a simple fact I'll have to deal with sooner or later, but he's not the one who sets my blood on fire._

_Okay, yes he does, but it's not the raging bonfire, the all-consuming combustion, the eternal flame of loin-melting and heart-melting heat that I feel around Solas._

_Yeah, yeah. I'm mostly in love with one of them and attracted to them both. I need to stop trying to justify myself and focus on the present._

 

 

I may be strangely glad to be in a chokehold, but what I'm not happy about is that somewhere along the way, we've attracted an audience.

 

 

_Hello population of Haven. Could you all find a more constructive use for your time? Go be busy elsewhere._

_Please?_

 

 

How'd they even know to come here in the first place? Word apparently travels fast, even in a world without cell phones.

Then I look past the clustered group, my gaze catching on the lean slab of good looks and indifference, trying really hard to look uninteresting.

 

 

_Oh. Damn._

 

 

I'm surrounded by noises, the clash and clank of swords off in the distance, the murmurs of the crowd that seems to be growing by the second, but it all drains away when he meets my eyes.

We're left in silence, like we're the only two people alive in the universe.

The scene unfolds like a dream. Like my fantasy outside of Cullen's tent.

At least at first...

Two men that couldn't possibly be more different. One in front and one behind. One who grabs attention by the horns like a professional bullfighter and one who's entire life-plan revolves around avoiding that at all costs.

Two men that are hot as hell.

I blink. The connection between Solas and I broken when his attention shifts to say something to the person at his side.

Suddenly, I'm back in the artic world of Thedas, loosely ringed by a strange assortment of people, I even count quite a few pointy ears in the mix, one of whom is chatting up Solas. Planning on staying awhile, some annoying folks have even brought a combination of blankets and smaller crates as makeshift seating.

 

 

_It's like Pirates of the Caribbean had a one night stand with Lord of the Rings and then invited the whole lot over for a massive co-ed sleepover..._

 

 

The one saving grace in this whole mortifying situation is that Cullen has no connection to Solas' psychic link and can sense nothing of my discomfort.

I can't see his face but I can practically feel his confusion.

“Do we need to stop?” He drops his arm and I realize that I've just been standing there like a lump.

 

 

_A saving grace considering how low and close his voice is._

 

 

That concerned kindness makes me melt, in a gooey goo puddle. He must've assumed my stillness was due to reluctance and he's quietly giving me an out. Well, I am reluctant, very much so in fact, but my pride won't allow me to accept. Cullen has gone through the trouble of setting time side for this, and he is a very busy man. I may not be enjoying myself, but I feel like the least I could do is stick it out and participate a little longer.

I take a second to ensure the my voice doesn't do anything embarrassing before I answer. “I'm fine. Let's keep going.”

I do my best to tune everybody (including a certain handsome hobo, currently _still_ engaged in conversation) out and focus my complete attention on Cullen–

 

 

_Is that the glint of silver I see passing between the crowd?_

_Are they actually betting on something that is supposed to just be training?_

 

 

I look over at Cullen, who's backed off a few steps. “Are they gambling on us?”

He shrugs dismissively. “People love scrappy little underdogs like you," he comments with a barely there side-smirk, somehow making it sounds less like he thinks I'm a one legged woman in a figure skating tournament and more like a comedic sidekick.

I appreciate it.

 

 

_Wait. Is he **that** sure I can't kick his ass?_

_I mean, that's probably true, but–_

 

 

Dodging brown sugar-glazed man-hams takes all my concentration, and I'm okay with that. I need to be right here, in this moment, and not in the land of dreams and creams.

I straighten my spine and narrow my eyes.

We circle each other, me eyeballing him wearily and Cullen observing my body language and footwork. Then suddenly, he attacks and I stop worrying about who's watching and the impression I'm making, and start worrying about getting my brains bashed out by the meaty clubs he calls hands.

 

 

_Such a mistake. Definitely a mistake._

_Such a mistake. Definitely a mistake._

 

 

It's the mantra I repeat I'm my head over and over as my every attack is countered with deliberate ease, until even my natural elven resistance to cold is sorely tested by the frequency that various body parts meet the ground.

Emphasis on the sore part.

 

 

_Couldn't he just do me a solid and pretend that this is a challenge? He's not even breathing hard._

_The component, smug fuck._

 

 

The spectators/gawkers that have been watching from the sidelines and occasionally criticizing my technique (or lack thereof), lean forward in their makeshift seats and start offering 'helpful' advice of their own, but Solas hasn't said a word.

Not to me anyway...

 

 

_What could she possibly be talking about that could be **that** interesting? _

_Is she fluent in geezer?_

 

 

My back hits the snow again, breath forced out of my chest from the impact. “Ugh.” This time I just lay there disheartened, ready to give up and throw in the towel.

That's how I feel, like Sisyphus pushing that damn rock up the hill in that old mythology story. But he's only worried about himself and that rock. Compared to all the shitty shit I have going on, that would almost be a vacation.

“You’re getting too close, Herald,” Cullen offers his hand, his palm as slick as mine, sweat shining across forehead; I can feel a drip of my own slide over my temple. We're both sweaty from exertion and I can't help but notice that it's a very, very good look on him.

“You’re too quick,” I complain, quickly reigning in and redirecting my thoughts to the situation at hand before I make things awkward again. “I can’t get in and out fast enough to hit you.”

“Then fight dirtier.” He rights me with ease, our fingers sliding together as he pulls me back to my feet. “Like I showed you with the rib jabs.”

“I could kick you in the balls—”

“Well, I’d rather you not.” A laugh bursts out of his mouth, like an amused bark, and it's a great sound. I wish that he would do it more often.

 

 

_I wish that there were more things to laugh about, here..._

 

 

He nudges my shoulder with the flat of his palm, upsetting my center of gravity. “You’re too concerned with hitting me,” he admonishes. “Don’t hit me, take me off balance and then get away. Unless you're fighting a teenage girl…” He stops, cocking his head and thinking a moment. “Or, maybe a  _nug_ , you’re always going to be at a disadvantage.‘’

“I can kick more asses than just a little kid or a defenseless animal!” I exclaim hotly, offended by his poor assessment of my capabilities.

“Not from what I've seen so far...” He challenges. “If you can do better, **show**  me that you can do better.”

He rolls his shoulders with his hands lose at his sides.

 

 

_Flaming Cheetos and twinkling tit balls, it looks like he's actually enjoying this!_

 

 

From the smattering of spectator laughter, he's not the only one.

 

 

_Great crowd participation guys. You're the best!_

_Fuckers…_

_Get. Back. To. Work!_

 

 

“You can’t always aim to win. Aim to get away,” he continues, ignoring the crowd's amusement.

“But I like winning,” I push my lip out, an exaggerated pout.

“And **I** _like you alive_ ,” he parries back.

Out of the corner of my eye I see the brief flash of reflected sunlight as a bald head turns to look our way. I know Cullen absolutely did not mean that the way it sounded, but I'm still briefly satisfied by the result.

 

 

_Ahhhhhh. Finally caught your attention, did we, Wolf?_

_You came here for a reason. **I** am that reason, not that little bit of nothing gazing at you with disgusting adoration._

 

 

“So fight dirty, fight to run, fight to get free,” Cullen talks on, not noticing my distraction. Or, if he notices, he doesn't acknowledge it.

I nod, struggling to keep my eyes facing forward, wiping the back of my hand over my forehead and running tense fingers through my short hair. “Yeah, okay, okay.”

“Alright, so try this,” he raises his fists and I copy his stance.

“Say I was coming at you straight on, I want you to wait for the last second and then drop your weight, when I come forward my own weight will be distributed differently. If you use my momentum and throw my center out, I’ll fall. No matter my size, if I lose my balance, I’ll fall.”

I nod, licking dry lips and consciously slowing my breathing, my heart rate evening out as I wait. I try not to glance over at Solas, but I'm too weak to resist.

At least, I believe I keep it surreptitious.

 

 

_Is he still watching?_

 

 

His face is angled away and tilted down in polite interest at the woman next to him. AGAIN. I'm disgusted and nauseated, but by god am I curious. What are they talking about? What on earth is she saying that could continue keeping his attention for this long?

At least, I _think_ it's only polite interest on his part...

My heart cracks a little when it falls off the cliff of reality.

 

 

_What did I think would happen? Did I seriously think he'd turn away the attentions of every attractive person that's the right race and correct sex just because we have some strange chemistry while I'm temporarily a woman **in a dream**?_

_I had hoped..._

_Don't be stupid. This is not a game, and he's not a celibate monk living on a mountainside somewhere. It's bound to happen..._

_But… Damn… Just damn… I think I'd rather stick ice picks in my eyes than watch that._

 

 

The heart-cracks get wide enough that I'm afraid my emotions will start leaking out. I feel an achy hiccup in my chest, and my sinuses start to sting like I just snorted wasabi.

 

 

_No._

_Don't you dare._

_Don't you do something ridiculous like start crying in the middle of badass training with Super Stud just because Addictive Asshole is talking to someone else._

 

 

“Come on, then,” I challenge, motioning to Cullen angrily, although I'm not pissed at him. More at myself than anything else.

Or maybe at Solas and his new cute, cuntbag companion.

And maybe I'm unfairly judging a girl I've never met.

And maybe I just don't give a bucking duckling fuck.

Cullen tilts forward and I catch the cue, waiting until I can feel the heat of his arms before I drop, sinking low, my shoulder hitting his ribs and I push up, using the force behind his charge, my inner well of righteous anger, and the strength in my legs to follow through the motion.

He stumbles and I use my arms to turn his body, taking us both to the ground, turning as we fall to land on top of him.

 

 

_Ha! I did it, so there! Eat it, Cullen!_

 

 

I smile down at him smugly, straddling his waist. I dig in with the toes of my boots and push my weight down as firm as I can, making sure he gets an invigorating ass full of snow. It only seems fair. But, I do manage to resist letting out a "whoop!" in exhilaration from landing a good move. 

He surges up instantly, unseating me and rolling us again, pinning me, catching my hands as I struggle, and forcing them down above my head. “The goal is take me down so you can run, not linger and gloat.”

“I like gloating,” I laugh up at him. “I still flipped you!”

He shakes his head, lips qwirking. “I noticed. You did great.”

I try not to flush with the praise.

I fail spectacularly.

I smile up at him, extremely pleased from my minor victory. I feel so good, I don't even care if Solas saw it. Cullen smiles down at me begrudgingly, his skin shiny, both of us flushed and hot from exertion.

“Finally got you breathing hard, Commander.” I can't help pointing it out, still as high as a gloaty floaty.

“So you did.” His eyes shift minutely, dropping a couple inches to my chin.

My _chin_ right?

 

_Uh._

_What?_

 

My eyes, of their own traitorous accord, slide to the left and snag, locking on something past Cullen's shoulder.

There are small, dainty fingers touching the arm of a man old enough to have sired her great grandfather's grandfather father's... Whatever... He's older than dirt.

She's touching him and _he's allowing it_.

 **She's** …... and...  **He's** …...

My heart is creaking dangerously, like a tilt-a-whirl assembled by a bored millennial Snapchatting in a mall parking lot.

Cuntbag tilts her chin up high to look at him, batting eyelashes and giggling like a hyena while twirling her greasy hair around her finger.

 

 

_No, it's not actually greasy and her laughter is less hyena and more dulcet, let me have my moment._

_I hate her._

_Like having enchilada squirts in the middle of sex kind of hatred._

 

 

This is the worst feeling. This is pure torture.

I have to carry on like I'm oblivious to her flirting with him right freaking in front of me. Act like I'm not planning out her murder in sadisticly intricate detail. Pretend that every single time I glance at him, I'm not experiencing random flashbacks of that dream.

Either dream, take your pick.

 

 

_God, I can still feel those hands in my hair and those lips against my neck._

 

 

I shift restlessly at the memory and Cullen's hands tighten on my wrists. My eyes shoot away from one man and back up to the other above me, just as he sucks in a sharp breath.

With his weight over me, I feel suddenly very aware of the heat caught between our bodies, his firm grip on my wrists and how my legs are spread, how he kneels between them, how taunt every sculpted muscle of his torso is—

There's confusion swirling in those amber depths. His brow in furrowed in concern, as if he can tell something is wrong.

I blink, my mind slow, my body—

My body hot and sparking and flushed with—

 

 

_Oh, lord of lubrication..._

_I am so fucked._

 

 

His concerned _niceness_  makes this all so much worse... This is terrible, awful, horrible, even without Cullen being privy to my new mind link that's broadcasting my flustered feelings. Not the first time I've been thankful for that today...

THE MIND LINK!

 

 

_Did Solas feel all that?_

 

 

My gaze flicks over at the pair of elves again, like a tenacious fly in the middle of a company picnic, before I can even finish the thought.

They look good together... I want to hurl.

A flare of possessive anger sweeps through me as I catch Solas leaning closer to Enemy #2, giving her sexy bedroom eyes.

 

 

_Wait._

_That expression was never programmed into his pixels!_

 

 

The lingering lust disappears, dissipating into steam as I flash to instant jealous rage. A blood vessel bursts in my brain, and I see stars, red explodey things that probably fall under the category of Not Healthy.

 

 

_Those are **my** sexy bedroom eyes, god-fucking-damn it!_

 

 

As if reading my thoughts, Baldy the Bastard's head turns my direction again. 

Bright blue sears at me across the snow and the world around us slows to a crawl again; a soft, blurred unreality like the slow motion of a sudden tripping fall.

Like being off balance in the middle of a hurricane.

The way he looks at me… It's something I've never seen before, and it sets all my nerves alight. He smiles slowly, a mischievous, boyish smile that tests my self-controlled anger in ways that I can't begin to describe.

Is he playing with me?

I narrow my eyes at him, half-confused, half-suspicious.

That's it! I'm going to scratch his damn eyes out!

 

 

_No, his are too beautiful, scratch her's out instead._

_Shut up! Stop raining on my hate bubble. I can't even plot out a good revenge fantasy in peace, like the inner sinner I am, without emotions and hormones getting involved._

 

 

I let my head fall back with a thump, sighing. All of this back and forth had taken probably a minute at the most. Cullen's hands are still pinning my wrists, his grip just as tight.

I need a fricking drink...

 

 

_Actually, I need to just get the holy hell out of here, but I'll settle for the strongest alcohol available._

_Maybe I can bribe Varric to get us a bottle? Where'd he go, anyway?_

 

 

I feel a set of eyes.

 _His_ eyes, I just know it.

 

 

_Technically there's a whole crowd of spectator eyeballs watching, including Cullen's, but Solas' attention is more piercing, it always has more weight to it._

 

 

It feels expectant.

I stop myself before I look, before I slide my own a little to the left again on their well-worn path. I'm certain if I did, I'd catch him carefully watching my every move.

 

 

_What is it? What does he want?_

_That mischievous smile... What did that mean? He wouldn't play footsie tootsies with E2 solely for my benefit, would he?_

_For what purpose? Getting back at me for this morning? Or a taste of my own_ _medicine/punishment for Sugar Shack?_

 

 

Solas is a million year old elven god-being, he would not resort to such childish behavior. It would be beneath him.

At least, I think so...

He was the aloof, studiously unattainable, even-tempered, sage-like character when I played, not the snarktasticly arrogant bossman that I'm seeing. I'm not understanding where all this fire is coming from. His personality is unpredictable and so much _more_  than I was expecting.

 

 

_Fine. You want a reaction, Solas? Here's a reaction..._

 

 

I arch my back and press myself up against Sugar Stud, as close as I can get.

 

 

_Wow. He's..._

_Huh. I wasn't expecting that..._

 

 

Apparently neither was he.

Cullen chokes, hold loosening in his surprise. I use that horrified shock to my advantage, grunting as I get one of my knees beneath his body, giving me a base from which to push up and against the hold, my elbow digging into the boulders that pass for his chest until I break his grip completely.

Before Cullen can withdraw his arm and back off, I lock both hands around one huge biscep and tug, scissoring my legs around his waist at the same time, using all my pissed off determination to heave him to the side, rolling him and straddling his waist again, pinning his forearms down in a hold of my own. 

 

 

_If he wasn't so freakishly tall, I'd be grinding down on a completely different part of his anatomy._

_And that would be a terrible idea._

 

 

The legendary Commander is flat on his back again, and the crowd is on its feet cheering wildly.

_Sort of..._

More like a random smattering of surprised applause, but I'll take what I can get.

I look over at Solas triumphantly, glorying in my supreme awesomeness. I feel like shouting a little myself, especially when I see that he's still watching. Is that pride that I'm seeing? 

E2 is not pleased with being ignored. She touches his jaw. It's a touch that lasts less than half a second, just a flutter to get his attention again.

 

 

_That presumptuous HUSSYHOLE!!_

_I'll show that bitch some attention!_

 

 

Solas doesn't even acknowledge the touch, he's too busy suppressing his mirth while looking directly at my face. I'm at a complete loss of what to do when my world turns upside down.

Literally.

Quicker than a surprise fart, I'm on my belly with Cullen pushing me down hard enough that I can feel the frozen ground beneath the snow, digging into my stomach. He applies pressure to my back with his shoulder as he wrenches my arm out and behind me.

“It seems that you just need the right motivation,” he says quietly, almost to himself, as he slowly pushes my shoulder toward my ear.

 

 

_Ow ow ow ow! Fucking OW!!!_

 

 

Just when I think I can't hold back my whimper of pain any longer, the pressure on my shoulder and the heavy weight trapping me down, disappears altogether.

Gritting my teeth, I flop into my back and glare, but when I see him my anger evaporates into a smile.

 

 

_My Gingerbread Cookieman looks like he's covered in powdered sugar!_

 

 

“Well done, Herald,” he comments when he notices my attention, clearing his throat and sitting back on his knees. He rocks back and up to his feet, his face blank but for the slight redness of exertion, brushing the snow/sugar off his pants, before straightening up to his full Viking height.

Not wanting to get caught in the ab-doration trance again, I hurriedly avert my eyes, only for them to be captured by the elfy duo and my anger returns full force. My temper is like a living thing crawling and clawing around my insides. 

She's tugging at his arm like a child begging for a Happy Meal toy, but he doesn't seem to mind.

Suddenly, getting to my feet doesn't seem like an insurmountable task anymore.

I practically fly off of the ground.

 

 

_Seriously?_

_I thought people were leery of him? When did she get so brave and **handsy**? I'm thinking my bookshelf would look just dandy if I added a tiny elf hand to the display._

_Morbid much?_

 

 

Looking down at her as if just now noticing, Solas covers the delicate hand with his own, successfully halting her stupid behavior.

 

 

_Note to self:_

  * _Punching a small elf girl in the nose is probably frowned upon._
  * _Check the Thedas laws on that one later._
  * _Right after I learn how to punch (we sort of skipped over that part)._
  * _I should probably just stick with tripping and kneeing her in the lady-groin, since those sound more like moves I'd excel at._
  * _That stilI works on girls, right?_



 

 

Maybe I could find some tar to throw at them. I'm pretty sure that E2 wouldn’t be nearly so confident if she had to shave off all her pretty hair. In my darkest fantasies, I reach out and snatch a handful of it, yanking her back and then elbowing her right in the boob.

_Bitch._

I'm glaring so hard that my eyes burn.

That's the only reason they're burning.

_The. Only. Reason. Dammit._

There's complete and utter silence in our small corner of the world, except for a low, menacing growl. It takes me a second to realize that the sound is coming from me.

I tear my stinging eyeballs away and drag them over the audience. They aren’t even clapping. They're just sitting there, mouths hanging open, while metaphorical crickets chirp in the background.

“Are you not **entertained**?” I fling the words out, trying to catch Solas in the venomous spray.

The sun beats down on my head as I pace like a caged tiger, ready to pounce. My spine straight, standing tall and proud, arms outstretched in an invitation to worship, true Gladiator-style.

All around me, voices obliged. They're chanting a name.

My name. 

 

_Sort of..._

 

In reality, the crowd only gives confused mutters in response to my challenge/question, except for a bald man sporting a nose as shattered as an over-used glass dildo, who looks like he has something up his ass to say.

 I have to ask. 

And after I did, I wish I hadn’t.

 

 

_I guess bald assholes stick together… Maybe they should start a Just For Men club._

 

 

There's a calming hand on my arm before I have the opportunity to grind ballsy baldy into the dirt and use him as a springboard to leap at the ratty looking slut and tear her fucking eyes out.

Varric makes a dirty joke about talking testicles, while he crowds in close at my elbow. I blink, feeling my cheeks warm in embarrassment.

 

 

_Dial back the possessiveness, honey._

_He's not yours to stake a claim on._

 

 

Someone else makes a joke and the crowd chuckles hesitantly, breaking the heavy tension. Ballsy baldy looks all frowny puckered, like he's been sucking on lemons, and that cheers me up a little bit.

I may have just made enemy #3, it's too soon to tell.

And I just don't give two poops and a screw.

With Varric's gentle but steady help, I hobble over to a nearby empty crate and sit, bending over with my forearms on my thighs, hanging my head and staring at the laces of my boots. All my bluster's fades in the face of exhaustion, both physically and emotionally.

 

 

_Thank the God of Goodwill donations, this is finally over, so I can go crawl into bed and die in peace._

 

 

A stick thumps into the snow at my feet.

“Attack me,” Cullen calls out, clearing his throat against the ever-present hoarseness.

My head raises in mute horror, and I crane my neck, looking at him as if he's just suggested an appendectomy through the anus.

 

_…...the fuck you say??_

 

Words fail me utterly.

Just looking at him makes me want to dry heave.

Gone, is the picture perfect ken-doll look of apologetic concern and in its place is his usual hardened jaw, giant, unfazed self. If I hadn’t just been privy to the whole experience, I would've never suspected that he'd just been exercising _intensely_ for hours.

Competent Cullen looks relaxed and fresh. Whereas, I'm sure that I look like a bag of crap, like a can of smashed assholes, like a… Well, I've made my point.

 

 

_Buttcrack boyshorts. You have **got** to be kidding._

_Frick flick dumpling dumping fuckface._

 

 

I look down at the stick doubtfully.

It's not really a stick, but more like a child's wooden play sword. It's been sanded smooth and actually looks pretty sturdy. Hesitantly, I reach down and use slightly trembling fingers to pick it up.

It's too damn sturdy, almost as heavy as a bat.

 

 

_Not sharpened steel, but fuck a truck, that's still gonna hurt. Is this morning going to ever end?_

 

 

I soak in the luxurious sensation of sitting for just one more second—what's the harm?—

Getting up to my feet is a laborious process, using Stickly and Varric's outstretched hand for support. My knees are shaking and it's all I can do to not collapse in a heap of hurting bits.

This is the moment I've been waiting for. 

The moment where my professional hero career is shortened by a decade even before it begins.

My head starts to buzz as adrenaline kicks back in, like an old 1940s refrigerator limping along in a state of the art kitchen. Feeling like I have to do _something_ to settle my nerves, I thump my skull twice with a lightly balled fist, then twice more on my chest.

 

 

_Just a little longer._

_I can do this._

 

 

Shrugging off Varric's sturdy, steadying hand, I move to stand before Cullen again.

Or at least, that was the plan. 

My left foot —and the walking stuff— has other ideas. 

This is going to hurt.

 

 

**SLAM**

 

 

I hit the ground hard and my head does a little bounce, arousing a sympathetic intake of breath from the small segment of the audience that isn't laughing their lungs out.

I lay unmoving at the feet of my opponent.

 

_Sort of..._

 

I huddle in a fetal position, hacking and coughing and making gasping noises, doing my very best tuberculosis impression.

My ears are ringing and disembodied faces float around my spotty vision. I can't tell if they're real or if I finally smacked my brain hard enough to start hallucinating. My sluggish adrenaline ebbs and everything that follows after is fuzzy and vague. 

There's a tingling sensation on the back of my neck that runs down my arms, leaving a trail of goose bumps in its wake. It settles heavily in my stomach—

This time the bed of snow is a welcome embrace.

The warm softness of a snuggly blanket falling around my cold, clammy skin.

“That was... really... nice,” I mummer to the blackness behind my eyelids, in between heavy breaths.

 

 

_Isn't that Cullen's line?_

 

 

I am only vaguely aware of being lifted up gently and cradled like something precious.

 

 

_Who is…….._

 

 

I can't even finish the thought before I'm lost to the nothingness.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm shifting my weight around in my beanbag chair, with anxious anticipation. 
> 
> So what'd y'all think? 
> 
> <3


	28. The Links and Kinks of Awakening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My beautiful Baller Buddies - I have missed you!! It's been muuuuuch too long! 
> 
> Come and enjoy another Sunday Funday with me <3

 

Waking to the creepy tickle of a rat tail slithering over one's face is about as unpleasant as it sounds.

It jars me back to consciousness and my throbbing head, quicker than the several hundred dollar price tag of an epic Sam's haul. I bat at my head with the same thorough slap-happy horror that I do when a kamikaze junebug divebombs my face and gets trapped, buzzing in my hair.

 

  
_Fucking disgusting!!! What the???_

 

  
The smell of slimy, molding leaves assaults my nose, making my stomach churn as I struggle to sit up, a scream already locked and loaded behind my teeth.

In a mad, panicky haze, I shake off wilted vines as squishy as rotten tomatoes, clinging to my arms and legs like half-melted gummy worms. I scramble to my feet in a rush, breathing hard, flinging the last of the rotten foliage into a rounded darkened corner.

My head aches so badly I honestly think my skull is going to crack open. It feels like something sharp is jammed in my left temple. I reach up, touching my head carefully, but it's smooth and normal. No lump, no blood, just pain. Blinding pain that makes my knees wobble. 

Despite the ice pick digging into my skull and stirring up my brains, I squint around me in confusion, fear creeping up my spine in tremors.

 

_Where am I?_

 

I'm in a dim, cramped room with a ceiling that's bowed in the middle and covered in winding, gnarled branches. It looks like I'm imprisoned within a skeleton made from tree roots, trapped within its rib cage.

Yes, imprisoned. Definitely trapped, if the wooden door to the right of me is as heavy and solid as it appears.

 

 

_Where the **fuck** am I?_

_What the hell? Did I piss off Solas or Cullen enough to skip right over torture room 1B and throw me in some rotten, forgotten basement after I passed out?_

 

 

There isn't a single block of stone anywhere around me, and I'm not chained to the floor this time, unless you count the rotten, sticky vines. There's nothing here. Just an empty, mostly circular room, covered in thick ropes of bark-covered branches and vines, snaking everywhere like bone carcasses.

 

 

_Wierd. Really really wierd._

 

 

I try the door, grasping the dark, rough iron of the handle and pulling hard.

It doesn't budge. It's probably locked.

 

 

 _Of course it is._ _Why would I ever assume things would be easy?_

_I'm in some kind of repulsive root cellar, not vacationing at a B &B..._

 

 

I crouch by the handle and examine the very simple, old school lock above it. Pressing close, I bring my eye a centimeter away and look through the keyhole. There's just enough ambient light in the next room to see what looks like a winding staircase.

Great. A way out.

I just need to figure out how to unlock a door with my current inventory of slimy nature excrement.

 

 

_I bet Varric could do it._

_Probably, but that's supremely unhelpful at the moment._

 

 

I stand, absentmindedly brushing damp leaves from the knees of my off-white tights.

 

_Wait._

 

I look down at myself for the first time.

A heavy-weight forest green tunic falls to about mid-thigh, and underneath–

 

  
_Oh frock a flock, I'm wearing tights?_

_Actual mother-bleeping **tights**?_

_Did they take the time to dress me up like woodland fairy ballerina while I was comatose? Although a tunic and a tutu aren't really all that similar..._

  
Being way past the stage where I feel any awkwardness about checking my body out, I pat down my chest, hoping that despite the apparent flatness, I would still feel some boobie buds.

Nope. Still as flat as a prepubescent boy.

Now, a little disheartened, I lift the hem of my tunic, noting that my legs look a little shorter and more corded with muscle than I can ever remember having. Holding the long shirt up with one hand, I use the other to lightly grab my junk.

I've been downgraded in my sleep. 

Donger's littlest brother apparently...

My shoulders shake with repressed laughter as I make fun of my own penis. The bottom half of me is dressed in a less interesting parody of the Goblin King, but without the mesmerizing ginormous codpiece bulge.

 

_Damn. There goes that David Bowie fantasy..._

_Well, at least I didn't wake up with an embronzed cocktail weenie standing at attention in my tights._

 

I shudder and let go of the hem, watching as the green fabric modestly covers poor Stubbles.

 

_Goddamn gobbling gobsmackers, even in a dream I still end up a dude._

_Wait..._

_This **is** a dream right?_

 

 

I pinch myself, but all it does is smart… you know, like I just pinched myself.

My amusement fades and my confusion grows. I snatch the edge of the shirt back up, lifting higher this time, my gaze slipping over lightly tanned, bare skin.

_No vallaslin._

With wide, scared eyes and dread pooling in my stomach, I release the shirt and bring my hand back up. As if locked in slow motion, my eyes fall lower with every blink, until they rest on my palm.

_No fungus. No mark. Only callouses._

I have a moment of complete and utter panic.

Both hands fly up to my face. Like a blind person using their other senses to see, my fingertips brush over every inch of my face, feeling the hard planes and sharp angles. High cheekbones, over-sized almond-shaped eyes that seem to tilt upwards at the sides. Pointed ears…

Like a crazed lunatic, I grab a small lock of hair and rip it from my scalp, looking at it as my lungs fight for air.

It's yellow.

I'm a short, blonde elf wearing a forest green tunic, and tights. That sounds like– I shy away from the thought.

 

  
_No. No way. It can't be…_

_Meddling mother of monster butterfloss._

_Did I get magically teleported to another video game fantasy world?_

 

  
'Isn't that what you were wishing for?' Wispers a small voice in the back of my mind.

  
_Shut up inner voice-over dialogue!_

  
I feel like crying. Like falling to a miserable heap and burying my sorrows in disgusting leaf-matter. As much as I kept bitching about it, I wasn't ready to leave Thedas. To leave the people that desperately need me to save them.  
  
To leave Solas.

My knees buckle and I collapse. My world narrows to the open palm resting upwards on my leg. The tainted hand that should have held the key to saving the world, collecting pain instead, as it drips down my cheeks. I clench that hand into a fist, trapping the watery grief inside.

 

  
_No._

_I won't accept it. I will find my way out of here._

_I will find my way back home again._

 

 

But first I need to find my way out of this room.

  
_Shit. Did I just refer to Thedas as home?_

  
My clenched hand starts to glow and I suck in a breath, stunned. Light peeks out from the cracks between my fingers, like I'm covering the end of a flashlight with my hand. It only lasts for a couple of seconds, before disappearing as if it never happened, but I'm left clutching something cool and hard.

A small, silver key.

 

 

_How did that–???_

 

 

Refusing to kick a gift horse in the mouth, I rush to the heavy, wooden door, thrusting the key into the lock. It turns with a smooth click and my hand jumps down to the handle. I shove my shoulder against exit to my strange tree prison, as hard as I can.

Nothing happens.

 

  
_Shit. Shit. SHIT!_

_I somehow created a magical key from my tears and it didn't work. Now what?_

 

 

I pace the round edges of the room. A room that feels like it's getting smaller and smaller with every rotation, kicking nature sludge out of my way.

I want out of here! But, how?

Think. Just stop for a second and think.

Going back to the door, I stop and consider for a moment. Reaching out for the handle, this time I turn it carefully, and the door swings open my direction.

Oh.

I pushed instead of pulled.

 

 _Oh for fuck's sake... Really?_  

_Wow. I'm certainly glad there's not an audience of people watching and judging my every move._

_That certainly would be humiliating..._

 

 

Sighing at the useless waste of time and energy, I'm out of the door in a flash, not stopping to close it behind me.

Why bother?

The corridor looks a lot like the room that I was just locked in, except rectangular and narrow. The same roping vines/branches clinging to the low ceiling. It looks like there's nowhere else to go but up, so I head for the stairs.

 

_Where in the ducking dogshit am I?_

 

Reaching the top of the stairs, I'm disappointed to find that it opens up to just another corridor. There's another staircase at the end just like the previous one below me, but this one has two of the heavy wooden doors, one to my right and one to my left.

Both are locked, I just checked.

 

 

_Annnnnnd I left my silver key in my dungeon door._

_Haven't I learned **anything** from playing video games? You should **always**  collect and hoard **any** object you come across._

 

 

Heaving another sigh at more useless wastes of time and energy, I backtrack to the Room of Rot and retrieve the key.

 

_I hope it's like the universal remote of keys. What's the name for that again?_

_Ah ha! A skeleton key! I hope it's a skeleton key!_

 

Turning it around and around in a loop through my fingers, I look at the two doors, trying to differentiate between them. I don't know which one to choose, they both look the same.

After a silly amount of indecisiveness and debate, I decide on the door to my right.

 

_Because how can 'right' possibly be wrong?_

 

Fitting the key smoothly into the lock, I turn the handle and gently _push_  on the heavy door.

 

_See? I **can** totally learn from my mistakes._

  
The room appears to be an exact replica of one downstairs, maybe with a little less rotted foliage. There's nothing here, it looks deserted.

Disappointed, I'm about to backtrack into the corridor, when a movement in my peripheral vision has me turning my head and I see another creepy rat scuttling across one round corner of the room.

 

_Round corner? Really? Like that makes any sense._

 

  
The rodent makes a beeline for a small pile of discarded rubbish. Gross. That's probably the secret wardrobe entrance to the rat kingdom of Narnia.

I really don't want to investigate. I REALLY don't.

But, I do it anyway.

Covering my nose and mouth with my hand, to stifle the smell, I prod the pile with the toe of my boot. Even though I'm expecting it, I still shriek and jump back when the rat reappears, shooting between my legs in a furry blur, almost upsetting my balance and making me fall on my ass.

 

_Fucking rat._

 

This time when I push my toe into the pile and jostle it around, nothing happens. Gaining confidence, I kick a little harder, using my foot in a side to side, sweeping motion to scatter unidentifiable lumps until I reach the bottom.

There! Did I see a glint of red?

I crouch down and gingerly pick up my prize, confused as to what exactly it is. Standing, I wipe at the heart-shaped glass with the edge of my tunic, carefully not thinking of exactly what that oozy film had once been.

Using the dark leather cord threaded through the top, I let it dangle loosely from my fingertips. Reflected light bounces off its smooth surface, shining like a mirror for a moment, as it swings gently back and forth. There's an oddly thick, red liquid inside that has the same hypnotic qualities as a lava lamp. I can't help but tilt the weirdly beautiful heart from side to side and watch the liquid move.

 

_So this is what a million dollar bubble necklace would look like..._

_And I have no clue how on earth it will be of any use to me, but it sure is pretty._

 

Adding the key first, I put the cord around my neck and tuck the glass heart-bubble under my tunic for safe-keeping, before heading out the door and trying the key on the other one across the hall.

Opening this door just as gently, I fall to the side, hard, when a burst of red light streams past me in streak of lightening headed directly for the stairwell at the end of the corridor. I think it's going to continue up, but instead it halts just shy of the first step and buzzes back to me just as fast.

“About fucking time!” The scarlet blur flares bright enough that I have to shield my eyes.

“Well, what are you waiting for? Come on!” It hovers there, bobbing up and down, in what comes across as agitation.

“I can't see my feet to walk,” I point out patiently. “You inconsiderate asshole,” I add when my second of surprised kindness for a strange, new being, fizzles into irritation. 

“Oh, my bad.” The portable Sith lightsaber dims considerably and I can drop my arm.

I rub the tender spot on my bruised hip and glare at the glowing Barbie doll with wings.

 

_Well, Ken doll actually..._

_Is he wearing a mini Roman Centurion outfit? That's... kinda adorable._

_He's pretty cute too, for a eight inch fairy-like creature with a perpetual glower._

 

  
“Hey! Listen!” He snaps tiny fingers in front of my nose to get my attention.

I blink, gritting my teeth at those obnoxious two words that echo in the empty hall.

 

_At least it's not a high-pitched repetitive squeak._

 

“Aren't you supposed to be a girl?” I grind out between my clenched teeth.

“Aren't _you_?” He snarls back.

  
_Touché… Ouch._

  
“Listen–” he begins, tugging on my sleeve.

“I _am_  listening, Navi!” Shaking him off and practically yelling in exasperation.

He flares bright neon and dives for my face. I duck instinctively, crossing my arms in front of my head as a buffer. When I open my eyes again he's hovering right in front of my face, giving me a frustrated look of his own.

“My name is not 'Navi', it's Neil,” he huffs and the bright glare of red spotlight surrounding him, dims to a tolerable level.

I straighten then shrug, moving along the hallway until I stop at the first stair. “Fine. You coming, Neil?” I ask without turning around, and head up without waiting for a reply.

Once we reach the top, everything opens up to a cavernous room, tall enough that I can't even see the ceiling. The thick branches wind up the rough walls, like popping veins, twisting and disappearing into the darkness above me. Way on the far side is yet another staircase, gilded and ostentatious to match balcony jutting outwards, my direction. All of it leading to a door that shines as if created from solid gold.

 

_There! That's it! That leads out of this stinking place, I'm sure of it!_

 

There are crevasses and outcroppings in regular intervals all along the walls, like a rock-climbing wall at ritzy exercise places. It's a good thing too because this big ass room has an equally gigantic crater in the center of it, deep enough that I don't want to get close enough to peer over the edge. It takes up the entire floor space except for a treacherous looking ledge around the circular edge.

 

_What is it with this place and circles?_

 

Without a word, Neil takes off for the balcony, leaving me to find my own way across.

 

_Maybe I should have spent more time cultivating a relationship and maybe gaining an ally..._

_Lesson learned._

 

“Neil, wait!” I call after him, wincing as my words echo several times. Just how big **is** this place?

He doesn't respond, but something else sure does.

 

 

_This is it._

_I'm going to die a man-virgin._

 

 

The ground beneath me shudders like a mild earthquake, and I clench my bladder tight so I don't piss on myself in terror.

Coming out of the crater… is a thing.

A really big thing.

 

_Yeah, I know, not very descriptive, but I'm speechless. Whatever that hulking mass is defies words._

_I was hairstylist, not a goddamn author, okay?_

 

  
This is ridiculous. I have zero weapons to fight this monstrous creature. A master sword and a shield would have been a nice touch. Maybe a grappling hook to make it to the other side like the true Hyrulian Hero I think I'm supposed to be? That would have been even better.

For fluffy fornication's sake, I'd even take a slingshot with a pouchful of seeds at this point.

At least the Thing moves slow enough for a shuffling zombie to outrun it.

 

_Outrunning. There's an idea._

 

I run fast enough to the edge that it feels like I teleported. I lunge right into creeping around the edge of the room with the bravery of a madman. Using the hand and footholds, I make my way to the gilded staircase with the hastiest pace I can maintain, praying that I'm swift enough to avoid this particular battle.

 

_A boss fight with nothing but my brawn and brain? Sounds like a great way to die an agonizing death._

_Keep it together, you're almost there. You're almost out!_

 

There's a sound like two boulders scraping together, from behind me, just as I reach the bottom of the stairs.

I don't look.

 

_I've watched movies. If you look backwards over your shoulder at the bad guy, you always trip and fall._

_Then they catch you and it's game over, with a lot of screaming._

_And dying, lots of that too._

 

  
Leaving the Mack truck of awful behind, I scramble up towards the balcony, tripping and falling anyway, but I keep going as fast as I can. Crawling and pulling and pumping my legs in small leaps, scraping my hands and bruising my knees in the process.

I don't feel the pain. It's not important.

The only thing that matters is surviving long enough to escape, and I've finally reached the fancy golden door. My hands are slippery with sweat and I have to grip hard to turn the knob.

Locked.

The sound of snapping branches and great oaks falling gets closer. With my heart pounding in my chest, I reach up and snap the cord around my neck, yanking the key off, wincing at how bad my hands are shaking with adrenaline and fear. The heart vial flies off the cord and lands in the corner of the doorframe near the hinges, but I don't stop to check it for cracks.

There's no time.

I try and shove the key in the lock, but drop it instead.

 

  
_Speaking of movies..._

_I feel like I've been dropped smack dab in the middle of a horror/suspense. One where the frightened girl is running to get to her car, fumbling with her keys while looking over her shoulder at the stalker behind her._

_She always drops the keys. Always._

 

 

I refuse to acknowledge the ominous shuffling sounds growing ever-louder.

I focus on scooping up the silver key, twinkling innocently at my feet. Using one hand to keep the other one steady, I line up the key with the lock, this time succeeding in inserting the damn thing.

What a fucking relief.

It doesn't turn.

 

“ **Looking for this**?”

 

_It talks?!?_

 

My stomach drops to my toes, and I glance over the balcony railing in frozen terror just in time to see the enormous creature waving at me with a shiny golden key pinched between its clawed, sausage-fingers. Tilting its hideously ugly head back, it dangles the key above its open mouth for a few heart-stopping seconds, before letting go and making a show of swallowing, drool dripping as it smacks its grotesque lips mockingly.

 

_Oh. My. God._

_That fucket bucket just **ate** my ticket out of here! My only way back to Solas!_

_How **dare you!**_

 

My vision clouds slightly with a red haze, and before I even know what I'm doing, I'm launching myself over the railing and directly at Creature X.

I get lucky.

I actually manage to snag one of its horns with my windmilling arms and hold on for dear life, my heart racing like mad. Although, surprisingly, it's not fear that's making my pulse pound and the blood rush in my ears, it's anger. Grabbing the key still somehow clutched in my hand, I swing the pointy edge of my impromptu weapon down in an arc with all my power behind it, aiming downwards towards its face.

I swallow against the bile that rises with the squirt of eyeball juice, when my attack connects. The Creature bellows in pain or rage, or maybe both. It swipes at me with one of its enormous paws, which I barely dodge in time.

The next one, I don't.

The weightless feeling of flying through the air is exhilarating, but the smashing into the wall is absolutely not. Actually, I should say: crashing _through_ the wall, that would be more accurate.

 

_Owwwwwwwww._

 

I had no idea how much it would actually hurt to be flung through a wall. They make it look so easy on television, wooden beams splintering like cheap movie props.

  
The truth is far different.

  
First, the initial impact slams the air from my lungs, something my pretty tanned skin doesn't protect me from. Then, for the briefest of moments, my body is a battleground between the momentum I have built up and the structural integrity of the wall itself.

Compressed flesh, bone-deep bruises blossoming under my skin—and then the thick branch supports bend, and the pulverized wood turns into a cloud of splinters. The shrapnel-like sawdust clings briefly to me before I smack into another wall and collapse there, velocity depleted.

I groan at the internal cursing of my battered body, staring at the wall I just made an elf-sized hole through, uncomfortably wedged between that second wall and a footlocker-shaped block of wood.

Grunting in pain, I lever my aching limbs up and over the obstacle. Sitting down heavily on the other side and catching my breath, keeping one eye peeled on the wall-hole for signs of the Creature.

 

_This sucks worse than gaining those ten pounds back after Thanksgiving..._

 

I lean back, ignoring the way a root digs with wild abandon into my kidney, just glad for the monetary reprieve from fighting.

Fighting? More like a lucky strike, and I have nothing left for a round two. 

My eyes fall on the wood block and widen in curiosity. There's a seem running along the two sides that I can see, splitting it exactly in the middle. Almost like...

A treasure chest! No way!

I'm on my knees in front of it, uncomfortable with the fact that it puts my back directly in front of the only entrance to this secret room that I can see, the door/hole I created with the force of my body.

 

_Hurry up before X-hole overcomes his eye injury!_

 

There's no lock (thank god), so I flip the lid back with a groan and a clatter, gasping in awe when I see what's inside.

A sword!

I have a chance to grasp the hilt and whisper my undying love, before being hauled backwards and back into the vein-laden cavern by my ankle.

 

“ **You dare spill my blood**?”

 

Ding-a-ling the Thing dangles me above his gaping mouth in exactly the same way he did the golden key.

 

_Thank the god of mudflap monstrosities for predictable patterns._

 

I don't answer him. I don't bother. I just wait.

I bide my time, ignoring the pain and pressure from my screaming ankle, strangely fascinated by the dripping gore of its eye hole. Fixated on the wet path of blood and fluid trailing down its face.

 

_I'm glad I won't be needing that key anymore._

_I sincerely hope I don't need it, anyway._

 

The second he lets go, I twist my body, positioning my new favorite sword of all time between bent knees and grip the hilt with both hands. There's a jarring that reverberates in both of my shoulder when the blade connects, slicing like butter directly through the bone of its skull and into its brain.

 

_What the hell is this sword made of?_

_That was awesome!_

 

The Thing shudders and screams. I hold on tight as my body is flung back and forth like a fleshy flag, riding out its death throws. It doesn't take long for it to collapse with one last roar and a parting thrash. It stills with a rattling sigh, and then all is quiet again

 

_What a rush! That reminds me of my fight with Big Daddy Behemoth. I remember the awe on everyone's faces when he turned into play-doh ashes!_

_I wish Solas could've seen this latest badassery!_

_Solas..._

 

My sinuses sting and I blink rapidly, fighting for control.

I realize that I'm still kneeling on a dead creature's head and quickly stand, pulling out the blade as I do. Jumping to the ground jars my ankles, and the one that got squeezed in a giant paw/hand lets out a sharp twinge. Gasping, I drop my sword and hop on one foot, looking for a place to sit while I wait for the Thing to disintegrate. I settle for leaning with both arms, forehead pressed against the crater wall until the pain lessens to a tolerable level.

I turn back to collect my golden key from the corpse ash, and find the carcass is still sitting there, right where I left it, rotting.

 

_Oh joy…_

 

Opening up a foul creature's digestive tract is just plain disgusting. After an indeterminate amount of time (stopping to puke ten or twenty times stretches things out a bit), I'm covered in guts and gore, but I've found my prize.

Clutching the golden key in my oil-slick grip, I look up and up and _up_ , craning my neck until I can see the edge of the ledge.

 

**How in the fuck am I going to get up there?**

 

“With my help, of course,” says a smugly masculine voice before my body is enveloped in sparkly red light.

 

  
_Seriously?!?!_

 

 

“Seriously?” I round on him the second the light fades and I see the golden door two feet away.

I point at him accusingly. “You could have magic-ed me up here this whole flipping time?”

He shrugs with an easy roll of his shoulders, but doesn't back down in our faceoff. “I tried to tell you, but you wouldn't listen.”

 

_Oh my fucking poop emoji..._

 

“ **That's** what you were trying to say with all that 'hey' and 'listen' crap?”

He shrugs again, but nods.

 

_I can't. I can't even..._

 

I turn very carefully back to the fancy door and pick up the heart bobble, reknotting the cord and placing it around my neck once again. The crimson liquid doesn't seem to be dripping out, so I guess it survived with no leaks. Maybe it's made from tougher stuff than regular glass?

Taking a deep breath, I place the key I won the hard way into the lock, it turns with ease and I push open the door, stepping bravely into the golden light beyond.

 

_I can't see shit!_

 

There's a sensation of falling from a great height, followed by a resounding crack. The blinding light is speared by a seam of dark. A seam I'm barreling toward at a breakneck speed.

I close my eyes, not wanting to see my end coming, if that's what this is. The next thing I know I'm tumbling into a somersault, head over heels until I fling my arms out and roll to a stop.

Breathing hard, I open my eyes and the first thing I see is a slowly closing gap of golden light along the entire length of Creeper Tree's trunk.

 

_Wait._

 

**You mean I've been trapped inside of Creeper this whole time?**

 

I collapse backwards onto my meadow on blood flowers.

I've never been more glad to see tulips in my life.

 

_I'm in the Fade, which means I'm dreaming._

_Which means–_

 

  
“When one door closes, another opens; but we often look so long and so regretfully upon the closed door that we do not see the one which has opened for us," says the voice of Angela Lansbury.

A grin of pure delight splits across my face, so hard that my cheeks hurt.

Sitting up again, I look up to the swaying branches, and sure enough I see Owl amidst the rustling leaves.

A blurring of spots is the only thing my eyes can track, and I barely have time to throw my arms up before I'm tackled to the ground, my back pressed into the soft grass by the heavy weight nuzzling my chest.

“We were wondering when you were going to come back for a visit!” As soon as I hear the words in that endearingly boyish voice, I have my arms around his furry body in a stifling embrace, hugging his warmth as hard as I can. I rub my cheek against the softness, letting it tickle my nose and the tips of my eyelashes, revelling in my relief.

“Why are you greeting them so nicely when you were so rude to me?” A floating winged man asks sulkingly.

“You found Neil! You're the best! We've been looking for him for a long time.” Curiosity purrs his pleasure.

 

_I almost didn't recognize him without the red glow._

 

“Why aren't you glowing anymore?” I direct the question at hovering Ken, but it's a throaty feminine voice that answers.

“Command doesssssn't need a protective barrier here. Here it'ssss sssssafe.”

 

_Command? As in the Spirit of Command?_

_Whose name is Neil?_

 

I snort a laugh and then it hits me like a ton of bricks.

 

_Oh._

_Not 'Neil'……. It's 'Kneel'……._

_Well, shit. That's a little sexy. Too bad he's only a little taller than my hand is long… and a spirit... and a prick._

 

My eyelids are starting to get heavy, but I fight off the lethargy. I'm not ready to end my friend reunion, and this meadow is one of the few peaceful places I've found. 

I don't want to fall asleep, and this time I don't.

This time I'm sucked away into oblivion, like the whirlpool of a toilet flushing.

 

_Well, shit._

_Literally...._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :::HUGS:::
> 
> Thanks for spending some time with me! I hope to hear from you soon <3


	29. See You Later Alligator

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Fireworks Funday, Ballers!!!
> 
> I hope every one of you has a fantastic (maybe even off-work) day, and that maybe a chapter gift from Lucy and I will make it even more FABULOUS <3

 

I come back to myself all at once, like a ghost possessing a corpse, minus the dramatically over-loud gasp.

There's no lingering grogginess or hazy, dull, zombie brain that I usually associate with waking from a sleeping state without caffeine. This is more like the simple act of one blink followed by the next.

I feel abnormally normal.

One minute I must have been unconscious, the next I'm wide awake and fondly ( _Fondly? Really?_ ) watching the beautiful oranges and pinks of a setting sun filtering over all my borrowed furniture and meager horded belongings.

 

_Setting sun, huh?_

 

I must have been out for awhile if it's already dusk, and I still have things to do. A whole to-do list actually. Shifting slightly in the plush cushion of the mattress, I stretch out tired muscles under the blanket, starting with my toes and working up, my eyes drifting lazily over to the window.

I freeze mid-yawn with a suddenness that's comical.

Solas is here, one arm braced on the wall, staring through the glass in silent contemplation at the gorgeous view of the latrines beyond.

 

_Solas..._

 

My heart stutters a beat.

 

_Is. Here. In. My. Room._

_Well, fuck my armpit with a smile..._

 

  
I have no defense, no explanation but stupidity for my actions. There must be some kind of disconnect between my brain and my body because that's the only reason I have for forgetting myself, for throwing off the covers and padding barefoot toward him in huge strides.

He turns at the sound of my movement, just in time to make a surprised exclamation as I'm leaping into his arms. He takes my weight like it's nothing, but the enthusiastic momentum still throws him off balance, and he has to take a couple steps back to regain his footing, his stunned arms linking around my waist out of instinct.

“Solas! ” My voice cracks with emotion and arms wind themselves around his neck in a relieved hug, as I lay my head on his shoulder and inhale deeply. I'm so glad to see him, so thankful to awaken in a familiar setting. His scent relaxes the last lingering anxiety pumping through my system. He smells of musk and leather, dipped in honeyed citrus, and for the life of me, I can't think of a more wonderful or appealing scent.

 

  
_Wait._

_What the hell am I doing? Nose humping his neck??_

 

  
“I assume… that you slept well… then?” The words come out with strange little halts, and I realize that the hard muscles I'm still clinging to, in my superb koala impersonation, are extra tense. Even the fingers he's dropped to support my upper thighs are digging into me like stiff cylinders of marble. This close to him, I can hear his heart thudding loudly. And I can feel his pulse jump, from adrenaline or something else, when his arms tighten around me.

And that causes the unwanted chain reaction tightening my pants.

 

_No. Nope. NO, Donger! Down boy!_

_Why can't you be more like your little brother? Huh? Stubbles didn't give me any trouble whatsoever, but you **always** have to ruin **everything**!_

 

“No, my dream was total shit-butter, but I'm perfectly okay now that you're here.” It comes out all husky and breathy.

 

_What the freak? What is wrong with me?_

_Stop it with the heartfelt confessions!_

 

I have to fight a deep blush and do a rather poor job of it, so I duck my head and bury my face against his chest instead.

Apparently, that's one step too far. His strained embrace shatters when he drops his hands, as if my body is suddenly scalding hot. He stands straighter, vering back and pulling away as gravity, without the strength of his assistance, forces the slide of my body to the floor.

As soon as my toes touch floorboards, I pull away a few inches and tilt my chin to peek at his expression, sheepishly.

 

_Wow._

 

The look he's giving me states very clearly that he REALLY doesn't want me to keep touching him right now, and my hands fall limply to my sides.

I gaze at my feet in defeat.

In de-feet.

Siiiiiiiiiiiigggggghhhhh.

 

_Duh. Seriously, what did you expect? For him to kiss you passionately and lay you carefully down on the bed for swordplay naughtiness?_

_My life is not some Hollywood romance movie where boring girl meets famous boy and they fall madly in love. I’m not naïve enough to believe that this is going to happen to me._

_Not to mention, **again** , that I'm not even a girl. Plus, I haven't exactly decided if I'm into sword fighting in the first place._

_And yet…_

 

I look back up, ready to–

I'm lying. I'm not really ready for anything. I feel unbalanced and ashamed at my impulsive behaviour, alarmed at how easily it was to forget everything, to start cracking open the nutshell and baring my soul-meat.

 

_Damn… Did I miss dinner again?_

_I need to keep reminding myself that he hasn't known me for years like I have him. He's only known me a short time. A few days? A week? I've lost track..._

_Patience is a virtue and all that positive, uplifting bullshit._

 

I'm thankful that I'm unable to see his face, that he's turned back to the window, fascinated by excrement disposal. I'm still glad to be back, glad to see him again, whatever our current relationship is. But…

“Why are you here?”

He doesn't respond, and the silence that hangs out in the place of an answer, is not a comfortable one.

“Hello?” _Earth to Solas._

He doesn't react at all, no answer, no tightening of his shoulders, no tensing of any kind to acknowledge I've spoken. _Twice._

(Apparently dismissing my presence entirely to carefully analyze some shitty port-a-potties.)  _Pun intended._

I send him the mental equivalent of a middle finger.

No reaction.

Piranhas in a junk gnawing frenzy....

No reaction to that either. Not that I care.

Absolutely not.

 

_Then why do I feel like one of those stereotypical, overly bitchy, attention whore heroines I can’t stand?_

 

I sag against the wall in frustration.

He gets me so worked up. So angry and frustrated, so easily. I can’t figure out what I want to do more, punch him or fuck him.

Neither of us speak a word to each other for the longest time. It's tense, the silence that sits between us like a eight foot chain link fence with barbed wire frosting. I twiddle my thumbs, biding my time until I finally have to say something. I have to take the pressure from my own shoulders before my spine snaps under the weight.

“Well, this is awkward...”

He glances at me and then turns away again, back to gazing out of the window, his eyes far away, more subdued than I've ever seen him before.

“Is it? I thought we had reached a point of open invitation to invade each other's private rooms? Even through locked doors...” He doesn't move. Maybe he finds it easier to talk when he has his attention on the view outside?

“At least _your_  door has a lock!”

A second too late I realize what I just said.

“So you admit that you were in mine earlier.”

 

_Shit!_

 

I swallow, glad that he's not looking. “I'm not admitting anything, just stating a fact that plenty of people could know. You can't prove that it was me!”

 

_Double shit. Stop digging the hole deeper!_

 

“Can I not? I can feel your guilt from here.”

“You can feel my–” I draw in a deep breath, trying to calm down before my brain explodes. I'm firmly on the punching side of the Force right now. “Stop spying on my emotions, or I'll start replaying some of my favorite fantasies again!”

“You enjoyed that, did you?” A hint of anger has me rubbing my palms together with a villainous gleem, almost bouncing in place with glee at breaking through his calm.

“Without a doubt more than you did!”

“Av'ahn ga, da'lin.” The words are spoken with only a moments deliberation, and I'm left confused. The only word I recognize is–

“I am not a child!” I sputter indignantly.

“Then I suggest that you cease acting like one,” he fires back, and I roll my eyes in a very **un** childish manner. 

“What was the rest? What did you say?” I demand impatiently, ignoring the insult. _Mostly_.

“You may ask again another time, and I may tell you, when I am no longer... vexed… with you.”

 

_ARRRRRRGGGGGHHHH!_

 

“Why are you in my room?!?” My face grows hot as my temper flares like a sonic boom, ready to stomp over and spin him around bodily.

“Because you were in mine.”

“You don't know that!”

“Yes da'lin, I do.”

I want to stab him. Multiple times.

In a very unpleasant places.

“There's no way you could know, I didn't see you!” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I almost bite my tongue off.

 

_And there you have it folks, my 007 level subterfuge at its finest. Prick my temper and watch me spew._

 

“I did not wish for you to. I was curious what was so important that you involved the _other_  child in such a clumsy attempt at a distraction.” At least he has the decency to not be  _obviously_ smug.

 

_I'll show you clumsy, you pointy-eared turd-anus!_

_I didn't think it was that bad of a plan._

 

“You're impossible! Tiny isn't a child either.”

“That is a matter of perception.” The back of his shoulder moves in a dismissive shrug. “What did you take? I doubt you had Master Tethras pick the lock on my door only to make my bed.”

My eyes shoot over to the innocent ecru bundle sitting on my bookshelf. I shift my weight and take a deep breath, averting my gaze before I can incriminate myself even further. “You tell me what you said and I'll tell you what I took.” There, that seems reasonable. 

“I can figure it out without your assistance.”

I sputter, wordlessly for a second, my brain unable to form a complete thought amidst all the curse words. 

“Fine. So can I,” I finally manage with a huff, crossing my arms over my chest.

At an impasse, we don't speak again and the minutes tick by with an uncomfortable ripple of aggression that radiates from us both. What a picture we must make, with our matching frowns.

 

_Not that I can see it, but I'm damn sure it's there._

 

An impasse: Stubborn versus stubborn. And, he’s one of those anal retentive assholes that’s wound so tight he needs a fucking muscle relaxer to take a shit. What a dick.

And yet... I want more. So much more.

 

_Yeah, I have a problem._

 

“I think it's time that we address the druffalo in the room.”

That gets his attention finally and he turns from the window. His face is smooth and sharp, like a hard boiled egg made from diamond. Impenetrable. Beautiful.

“Druffalo?” He raises an eyebrow, the only crack in the placid blandness of his mask. “You must have hit your head harder than I thought. You should take better care of yourself.”

I blink at his condescending tone and push off of the wall, ready for the challenge. My shirt snags on something behind me and I bat around blindly, trying to gracefully unhook myself from what I had thought was a blank, I unused space completely safe to lean against.

 

_Fucking unsanded log cabin with its stupid nature walls._

 

I strain and tug until my shirt tears with an embarrassingly loud ripping sound. Wipping off the rest in a fit of pique and wadding it together, I squeeze it like a stress ball as I stomp over to my bookcase, hard enough to bruise my heels.

Breathe. Squeeze. Breathe. Squeeze.

Dropping the shirt, I snatch up the bone comb and turn in one motion, ready to get some answers.

My mouth promptly opens at my command, but nothing comes out.

His gaze is sweeping over my bare torso, and my skin tingles like his eyes are leaving magical spark trails behind. They zero in on my chest, their thorough journey at an end, where he stares with an intensity that has my blood rushing…… to my face.

 

_Better than my crotch, at least._

_How can he reduce me to a mass of hormones—angry one minute and wanting his lips on mine the next?_

_But seriously, what's he looking at? My elfy tats are pretty badass, and I guess this chest is alright, for not having amazing ta-tas..._

 

He strides the couple feet to me with a look on his face that freezes my breath in the middle of an inhalation, changing it to a gasp. He’s sin and pleasure wrapped in a package I’m tempted to peek at. Tempted to rip the wrapping off in unfettered impatience in order to see, finally, what treasures are being kept hidden.

 

_Ahem._

 

His hand reaches for me in a blur that I can't track, and I stumble toward him as he snatches tight the cord, that I didn't notice around my neck, like a leash. He pulls me with a strong tug and I take a clumsy step forward, almost falling into his arms.

Again.

At least I'm not foolishly leaping into them this time.

“Where did you get this?” He demands, sounding angry.

He's not looking at me, instead, his eyes are blazing down at a heart-shaped glass vial, filled with thick, red liquid, hanging the same way my mouth is at the moment.

 

_What? Where did I…? How did I…?_

 

I clear my throat, and immediately wish I hadn't when his eyes flick up to lock with mine. I stare at him breathlessly, watching his hand close around the heart in a fist tight enough that I'm worried he might crack the glass.

 

_Holy starfucker, he looks **pissed**._

 

“Uh. You wouldn't believe me if I told you,” I say hesitantly, slowly reaching out and touching the fingers of that fist. Solas looks down at my hand and releases the vial, as if just realizing that he was still holding it, and by proxy me, captive.

“ **Try me**.” It's an order, said in a low tone that chips away at the lining of my stomach.

 

_Goddamn butterflies with pickaxes…_

_Oh, Maker, help me. The way he said that, in a voice dripping with threat and carnality, has me wanting to tell him, has me wishing it was that easy._

_Wait. Did I just swear in Thedas-lingo? WTF?_

 

I bite my lip, wincing slightly when the clear heart thumps back against my sternum, but still, I hesitate, unsure of how much I should reveal.

I move to take a much-needed, giant step back but I freeze when his hand cups my jaw. His thumb brushes my chin, tilting my head up with the lightest of touches so that I'm looking directly into the face that I'm sure had ancient elven panties dropping all across the land.

 

_Penalty box for you, sir! Unfair advantage!_

 

That magical thumb moves in an unhurried path across my lips, parting them with the slightest pressure.

“You will tell me what I wish to know.” Although it's said more softly, it isn't any less of a command. Beneath the surface is that current of power, demanding I answer, demanding I give in.

The words sink into my skin and burrow deep in my blood. He waits expectantly, not pulling away, my chin still trapped in his light hold like flypaper. My breath comes out in a disjointed rattle and I make the mistake of meeting his gaze.

“Yes,” I find myself saying, it comes out as a sigh. His nearness turning me into a liquid, simpering mess.

 

_Ugh. Eww. Flubbing simpering?!_

_No, no, not me … not happening!_

 

I jerk my chin away from his fingertips, wishing that I were one of those people who can say all the right things at all the right times. But I’m not. Instead, I think of them hours later and only wish that I’d said them.

I know that I’ll be doing that later, for I can’t think of a single way to deal with this overconfident and overbearing, yet irresistible man. He has reduced me to a mass of overstimulated nerves craving him to touch me again.

 

_Wait a second._

_If I have the heart then that means that I might have somehow brought..._

 

I tear myself away from him, as painful as ripping out my own partially-healed stitches. Rushing back to my bedside, I throw back the rumpled covers. Searching everywhere, including under my pillow and even the mattress itself, I come up empty.

My shoulders slump in disappointment.

 

_I feel like I should make a t-shirt: I defeated a nightmare and all I got was this lousy bubble locket thing._

 

“What were you looking for?” He asks calmly.

How does he control himself so fast?

“My sword.”

“You lay with a sword by your side? In your bed?" He shakes his head at me in obvious disapproval. "Unwise. As you can attest to, I do not. I find that a mage should not rely on steel for protection when the mind is a much more powerful tool.”

And that's all it takes to put unsolicited thoughts in my head. Thoughts of being alone in his room, in his bed, and surrounded by his scent. It's more than I can handle, and I sit down heavily when my knees weaken, like the sissy joints that they are.

 

_If I could punch myself in the ovaries, I would._

_If I had ovaries… Damn I wish that I did..._

_Not. The. Time._

 

I lift my head to see Solas with nothing but mild curiosity on his face. I know it's a front, an illusion, another of his many masks, but I suddenly find it hard to care anymore.

The weight of all my secrets is stifling. It couldn't hurt to share just one… Maybe he could even shed some light on the whole dream experience since it's his field of expertise.

I'm tired of suffocating in silence. 

I gesture halfheartedly at my chest. “I found this in my dream and when I woke up it was still on me. I was hoping the sword I had also found, hitched a ride as well.”

“What you are saying is impossible,” Mr. Fade Expert says definitively with a shake of his head.

 

_Or maybe he could be just as confused about it as me…_

_Sigh._

_Even my sigh feels tired._

 

“Maybe it is, I don't know, but you asked for an explanation and that's the only one I can give you. Check your handy dandy link into my mind if you don't believe me.”

“That is not exactly how our connection works.” He looks thoughtful for a moment. “Although, it is apparent that you believe what you are saying is true.”

“You see! I told you!”

“But it is impossible.” He reiterates.

“Well, maybe the rules on what's possible and what isn't have changed.” I argue with the immovable brick wall.

If anything, he looks even more doubtful.

I decide to change the subject. “You act as though you've seen one of these heart things before, considering the details of the dream I had, I find _that_ hard to believe.”

“I have not seen a Keeper since…” He trails off.

 

_A Keeper?? What's that?_

 

I lean forward, as focused on him and his words as I am on the slow rotation of a microwave during the last ten seconds before it beeps.

“ … In a very long time,” he finishes, altering his wording and leaving me with more questions than answers. He seems to draw in on himself, little by little, moving away and locking his arms behind his back in a pose I've seen before.

 

_Is this an elfy bauble from before?_

_No way! That really **is**  impossible! Ancient A-town and Zelda have no relation to each other!_

_And… I can't ask because I'm not supposed to know his origins. This is unbelievably frustrating, but that would be an explanation for his vehement, manhandling tantrum._

 

He rubs a long-fingered hand across his forehead, running it up and over his smooth scalp, palm ending clasped around his nape. He twitches, a flash of pain in his eyes before he closes them and turns away. His face is hidden from me, but suddenly his tall back and broad shoulders seem small, tired, and very, very lonely.

I shifted slightly on my bedside perch and try to ignore the bee that has just sprung to life inside my tummy, stinging me with sharp pricks of … something I can't name. It's an emotion I don't like and I'm not comfortable with, not at all.

I want him to confide in me, to trust me, to _want_ me.

 

_To love me._

 

My feet are moving and I don't stop them.

I don't even try.

He drops his hand and looks at me, really looks at me, in a way that makes my heartbeat skip several times in my chest. It’s hard not to get lost in his eyes. They’re beautiful—piercingly blue and hooded by mile-long thick, dark lashes. The rest of him is just as gorgeous, but I can't look away from his face. Right now, it's everything.

Sucking in deeply, I try to gather up every iota of bravery inside of me. I have like a teaspoon so far.

 

_This is not the best idea in the world._

_Like tossing a chocolate cake in front of a starving woman on her period kind of bad idea._

 

I step closer.

When he doesn't stop me, I reach up and brush his cheekbone with my knuckles. He allows it for a second, even tilting his head to rest the side of his jaw in my open palm. My heart is hammering so hard that I'm sure he can hear it. My thumb strokes his chin in a light, fleeting touch, moving higher to include that full bottom lip in my next sweep.

Before I can, he grabs my wrist.

“Stop.”

The word turns my breath to glass in my throat, but I move another step forward anyway. My chest is close enough to feel the warmth radiating off his body, to revel in the heat gathering in the narrow slit between us.

His pupils dilate, and his grip on my wrist tightens the tiniest bit.

It's the heat in his now-dark eyes, and the answering burn in my blood that pushes me forward again, until there's no space between us. He doesn’t move away, and despite the indecision that I see momentarily flash through his eyes, his hand slips around my waist, pulling me even closer, until my body is pressed against his.

His hand moves higher, tracing the bare curve of my spine, leaving goosebumps in its wake. Threading fingers into the hair at the base of my skull, he closes his fist and forces my head back, exposing the full line of my neck in a tight arch. “Stop it, Lucy,” he repeats, the teasing warmth of his breath caressing my bare throat, his voice firm despite how tightly he's holding me.

My name on his tongue catches me off guard and I melt into his punishing grip, wanting him to say it a thousand more times.

 

_He's sensing my attraction to him, and it’s driving him mad with conflicting impulses._

_Maybe I nudge him over to my side of the fence?_

 

“Would it be so bad?” I find myself saying.

His answer is a low growl of frustration, and my body reacts to the sound, the rich, deep tremors rippling along my insides. I'm sure he can feel it, we're pressed too tightly together for him not to notice, but still he waits, keeping himself completely stationary.

It's as if he's waiting for me to do something... but what?

 

_Is he wrestling with his self-control? Is he trying to prompt me into an action that he cannot?_

_What action?_

 

My blood thrums at the thought and I move against him, a subtle shift of my hips that makes the ache in my crotch blossom into a spear of pure pleasure. My desire increases—so much so that when it sweeps through me, it makes me dizzy. Which makes standing even more difficult when he suddenly releases me. I sway in place like a drunk, head spinning, blood hot with need.

I turn around to find him on the other side of the room.

The side with the door.

For once, he doesn't look calm, he's glowering like he wants to set my cottage on fire, possibly with me still inside. He looks like he he wants to close that distance and–

Wait...

 

_Is he going to run away?_

_That expression screams that he's seriously considering it._

 

I realize in that moment, that I've forgotten myself. Forgotten that my erection digging into him could/should/would be a serious turn-off. My eyes drop from his face, without my permission. I'm mortified, but I have to ask.

I have to know.

“Is it because I'm a man?” I hate the question. I HATE IT.

His sudden bark of derisive laughter takes me by surprise and my eyes leap back to him. “You think I have never been with a man before?”

 

_Wait._

_What?_

_He has?_

 

“Um… Yes?” My words are shakey. My whole world is shakey.

“I am a mage, da'lin. Do you think that it is beyond my capabilities to alter my appearance as I see fit? I have known many with such skills."

Annnnnd we're back to 'child' again. Great.

“So this has nothing to do with me being a man?” I gesture to the space he's put between us. He needs to spell it out. I need to be sure of this.

"You are more than just a man, you are a puzzle."

“And that's not exactly an answer.”

“True attraction comes from within, from the melding of souls, not the joining of bodies in a passing amusement.”

 

_Is the world spinning, or is it just me?_

 

“Then, _why_?” I persist.

“Because it would be a distraction that neither of us could afford.”

 

_So, he needs a deeper connection than a surface attraction before he'll commit to a romantic entanglement. I guess that makes sense and it fits his character. I'm sure in his younger years, he was much less discerning... If only I had met him back then..._

_Except–_

 

“You let _her_  touch you.” I don't bother elaborating, he knows who I'm talking about.

“Yes.”

I wait for more, but he leaves it at just the one word.

“Why?” I prompt again, for all the good it does me. He just looks down at me. Impassive. The silence is heavy with tension.

 

_Fuck him. He's not going to answer._

_Fine._

 

I ignore him, irritated, and scoop up the comb that had fallen to the floor forgotten, unnoticed by us both. Pressing the unyielding teeth into my palm, I relish the bite of pain and the clarity it brings. I'm mad. But better mad than the soul-sucking rejection and confusion I feel biting at my brain.

I try and think of something intelligent to say. Something significant to prove that I understand the importance of not getting caught up in relationship drama. I mean… I don't agree with not exploring this thing between us, two swords or no, but I acknowledge the words at least, and it's clearly important to him.

I'm not stupid, I get that much. I get that it's supposed to _mean_  something to him before he indulges.

 

_Pretty words, but how the hell do two souls meld?_

 

Frustrated at being forced into the role of convincing him that I'm worth the risk, that he should get his toes (and other things) wet and give me a chance, I switch the comb in my grip with an easy flick of my wrist and a couple smooth micro-movements of my fingers. Turning to him, I brandish the pointy teeth at him like a weapon.

“If that's how you feel, why bother giving me this little parting gift as a reminder of the sexy dream?”

“Gift? What are you talking about?” He tilts his head, looking amused.

I narrow my eyes. “You're a smart man, don't play an idiot.”

“I am unsure what you are getting at.”

I shove the comb at his chest, tired of his maneuvering. He catches it and looks down, turning it over in his hands with his brow furrowed in thought.

“Did you or did you not appear in my dream?” I ask point blank.

“I did.”

The answer doesn't surprise me, I was certain that one was him.

 

_But…_

 

“Both times?”

Ignoring my question, he holds the comb up high, examining it from all angles.

I want to ask again, but I have a sneaking suspicion that the answer will be more silence.

 

_So does that mean he did and he doesn't want to lie about it? Or, that he has no idea what I'm referring to and he doesn't want to admit his ignorance? Maybe he's so focused on the complexities of the comb that he's forgotten I'm even here?_

_I'm so confused._

 

I start to ask again anyway, but he beats me to it.

“I did not give you this gift.”

 

_What?!?_

 

“Yes, you did! I was there! You made it appear in my hand to help brush the tangles out of my hair.”

He squints at the comb and nods, running a finger along the teeth. “It appears to be similar to one I created in the Fade, if I am remembering correctly.”

“Which is what I just said.”

“Your implication that I went through the trouble of tracking down or recreating an object, to remind you of a brief encounter, is false," he says with arrogant dismissal.

 

_What?! He didn't do it? So, I somehow brought that with me from my dream, like the Keeper/heart necklace? Okay…_

_Wait._

_'Brief encounter'? That's a crock of shit._

_Way to downplay my sexy expectations with a two word summary, you butthole._

 

"Your hands did a hell of a lot more than create a magic comb during our 'encounter' Solas. A LOT more." And I haven't forgotten a single breathless second.

He shrugs just as dismissively and my temper snaps.

“Pretend all you like, but I saw very clearly how **hard** you were fighting temptation while I was on my knees.”

His mouth opens and then his jaw snaps shut, lips pressing together firmly.

“Or, should I say, when you forced me to my knees?” I speak the words a seductively as I can, moving closer, elated when his eyes blaze at me in response.

“You liked it, I could tell.” _What am I doing?_

"It was impulsive and ill-considered. It will not happen again."

"I think it will." _It has to._

"Then you are overestimating your charms or underestimating mine," he says coldly, his jawline as hard as a block of ice. 

An unpleasant pain jolts down my spine, the words cutting me like hunger does a fat man— much deeper than I want them to. The reason it stings so bad isn’t because it's bullshit, but because I fear it's just the opposite.

 

_Did I misread his interest?_

 

The idea shakes me to my core. The possible truth in his remark deflates my confidence.

“That was… unkind." I can't entirely conceal the pain in my voice.

“You do not understand how **unkind** I can be.” Solas is very still. His words in themselves are not alarming, but the way he says them, something in the tone has every hair on my body standing on end.

I swallow hard, trying to clear the sudden thickness in my throat.

He sighs quietly, coming closer. As if unable to resist soothing me, those long-fingered hands land on my biceps before they made a slow glide along my arms.

 

_Is he…?_

 

“Are you spying on my emotions again?” Some of my swirling chaos leeching away at his touch.

“Yes,” he says shortly, fingers brushing along my body.

I have to clench my fists now to stop myself from reaching out and pulling him closer again, to just stand there and accept the only touches he's willing to allow.

“Please, Solas.” The want leaks out into my words.

 

_What is he, that he has this kind of hold over me?_

_I have never begged a man in my life._

 

Dropping his hands, he clasps them behind his back as he edges away. “Neither of us is ready. Your mind and body would not survive.”

 

_Ready?_

_I'm definitely ready. I've **been**  ready._

 

He's at my doorway when I finally come to my senses. “Survive what?” The question jumps out just as his hand reaches for the doorknob.

“Me,” he says simply, opening the door and stepping through the threshold.

I’m near breathless, feeling on the verge of some precipice that drops off into a shadow world of fantasy that for years has only existed in my mind.

“Solas,” I call out before he can leave.

He doesn't turn around, but he does pause, and I know that I have his attention.

“You can't possibly know that for sure,” I state flatly, giving him a glare he can't see. Inside though … a surge of heat and feeling is rushing through me like fire, scalding me in places that haven't been touched for a long, long time.

“Yes, da'lin. I can,” he says just as flatly.

I want to argue but his body language is as 'back off' as I've ever witnessed.

“I'll change your mind.”

He does turn then, not his body, but he angles his head enough to meet my eyes. I can tell from his look that he understands my determination, and just for a moment, I see something flicker in his eyes. Something that makes my spine stiffen, my heart race, and my hands drop to cover the twitch in my pants.

“ _You may try_.” He turns away, bowing his head and conceding, but I'm not convinced. He said it, but with a tenseness in his shoulders and upper body that makes it feel more like he's granted me permission to fail.

“Do or do not, there is no try...” Is my sage advice, but it's to myself because he's already left into the night.

 

_And now I'm alone._

 

The quiet fills my ears and attempts to overcome a whirlwind of thoughts and worries. I close my eyes and simply leaned against the door, being still for a single moment.

I glance over at my bed, contemplating sleep for half a second. I feel drained, but more emotionally than physically, and I'm as excited to lay back down on my mattress as I am to pass a chawawa-sized kidney stone. The threat of more potentially nightmarish dreams has me opening up my laundry chest for a new shirt, in a hurry.

A quick swipe of a soapy cloth in the most-needed areas, and a hurried brush of mint paste, has me feeling human again.

Elfy again... whatever…

I tug on the clean shirt, not bothering to tuck it in, letting the loose cloth billow around my hips instead. I hide the heart-shaped necklace thing under the shirt, afraid that if I leave it behind on the shelf, Solas will sneak back in and take it.

 

_Solas…_

_That was…_

 

I refuse to admit that I'm on the verge of tears, even as I keep rubbing my eyes. Our encounter leaving me with the feeling I always get after talking to him: mild to extreme horniness mixed with a vague desire to hit something.

That desire increases exponentially when I notice…

Fuck! He took the comb with him! How could I miss that?

 

_Because you were too busy panting for his attention and floundering around with your impressive seduction skills. They were about as awe-inspiring as a preschool magician..._

_Shut up! Maybe he just forgot he had it?_

_Suuuuuuuuure…_

 

Awwww my other sidekick Sarcasm is here to kick me in the balls. Wonderful. Just freaking dandy.

Glad nobody's around to witness me flipping off myself, I take one last look around to make certain that I'm not forgetting anything _else_ , I head out into the night after him.

 

_Like he's just gonna hand it over if you ask nicely..._

 

_SHUT UP!_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Complimentary champagne and sparklers (of the fictional variety, of course) for my comment corner compatriots!!!
> 
> Snuggled in a bean bag, sitting on my hands and waiting for your reaction - oh how addicted I've become to your feedback and kudos! They keep the fire burning and my brain engaged. 
> 
> I love you all <3


	30. Building Relationships

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi Ballers!!! I'm waving at y'all enthusiastically because I missed you and all your loveliness! 
> 
> Let's make this Sunday an extra Funday by spending more time with Lucy and the gang, shall we??
> 
> <3

 

Shutting my door firmly behind me, I thump the handle with my fist and take a moment to wish for the hundredth time that it had a lock. Turning with a sigh, I begin my trek toward one of the few buildings that I've taken the time to investigate, Solas' cottage on the outskirts of Haven.

After several days here, not getting scared witless and almost dying, I've started to feel almost acclimated to the town. And this evening, as I walk along the main path, I even revel in the icy breeze that always seems to stir just a hair more briskly once the sun has set.

I observe my surroundings randomly as I let my feet plod along, surprised at quantity of folks still bustling about considering the time.

 

_Oh, look who's suddenly a time expert now._

_Quit it. Be helpful or be quiet._

 

_Does snarling at myself count as schizophrenia?_

 

Deciding to take a different path this time, I adjust my direction left, maybe for kicks and giggles or maybe to avoid the tavern and Dimples the super-friendly waitress for a little longer. I ignore the growling protest of my empty stomach, and make my way up the stairs, not in any special hurry, swinging my arms casually at my sides.

No one stops or stares at me this time and I'm equal parts relieved and mildly disappointed at my lack of star power. There's no embarrassing yelling or pointing, and the clingy fans of fungi are nowhere to be seen.

Maybe they're all getting used to my presence?

 

_Or maybe they're too busy finishing their work since they spent most of the morning and afternoon gawking at my training session with Commander Cookiepants?_

 

Maybe… Whatever.

I'm passing the Grand Chantry building (I can't seem to remember if that's what it's called), when there's a little niggle at the back of my brain. I feel drawn to the large double door, as if there's something I told myself or someone else that I'm supposed to do here.

 

_But what was it?_

 

Stopping, I close my eyes and think hard.

 

_Oh hell… When will I just write down the damn to-do list?_

_And while I'm at it, I should go ahead and add the bone comb retrieval since that really should wait until I've had a little solace from Solas._

_Solace... from... Solas._

 

I bite my lip to stifle my snort and try to filter out the sounds of a busy Haven, focusing on the niggling. It's practically impossible with so much activity, like trying to read a A Tale of Two Cities in the middle of Walmart instead of watching the freakshow parade.

People watching is much more fun.

Sometimes, when I'm around so many Thedas folks doing their version of medieval chores, it reminds me of just how different I am. I'm not a part of their world, not really. I'm an outsider with too much information, and yet not enough.

Never enough.

 

_Screw it. It'll be less difficult inside._

 

And it is.

As soon as the double doors close, it's quiet. Well, much less loud anyway with fewer people around, and the ones who are keep their conversations quiet out of religious respect.

 

_That's it!_

_I promised Tiny that I'd talk to Josephine!_

 

There are probably a million other things to discuss with her, but nothing else comes to mind so I head for the side door by the war room, hoping to catch a minute alone with her to discuss the whole Tiny being my new maid/man servant.

I'm reaching for the door when I catch a glimpse of movement along the shadowed edges of what used to be the sanctuary of this place, before we moved all our Inquisition butts in and took over.

Assassin!

 

_Do assassins usually wear full platemail?_

 

Cullen!

 

_Isn't he like a whole foot taller, at least?_

 

Uhhh... Cassandra?

 

_Ding ding! Good thing this isn't a game show, cuz you'd lose, badly. And the poor show would likely be cancelled for being too unrealistic. Just think of all those imaginary people who would be out of jobs, all because you're an unobservant moron._

 

I hate you.

 

_Don't hate the player, hate the game. I'm talking about Dragon Age, if you're too dull-witted to catch that..._

 

I know what you, I mean, what I'm talking about!

And while I'm talking/arguing with myself like a loony tune, she's almost made her escape to the big double doors.

“Cassandra!” I call out loudly.

At the sound of her name, she twitches in a flinch, casting a single glance over one broad shoulder at me. Then she hustles off, pretending to be much busier than she was just a second ago.

“Cassandra, wait! I need to–” Annnnnnd she's out the door.

She won't get rid of me that easily!

I follow her, ducking around torch-lighting guards and townsfolk with greater speed and dexterity than she's able to manage, her bulky armor slowing her down.

 

_There's something that I'm better at than Cutthroat Cassandra?_

_I should remember this day._

 

I'm almost upon her, my legs tensing to spring onto her back, when she heaves a great, gusting sigh and turns around to face me.

“Why are you following me?”

“Because you're avoiding me and I want to talk to you.”

“I don't have time to talk. I have other things to do.” And with that said, she turns back around and continues walking.

I dog her steps like a persistent puppy.

 

_Get it? Dog and puppy?_

 

“Cassandra wait, just for a moment. Please!” When she stops again and looks, I give her big, innocent puppy-dog eyes.

 

_Yes. Wit coming out your ass, in droves. Very impressive._

_I'd applaud myself, but I'd scare off She-Hulk with my crazy._

 

“Well, what is it?” She crosses her arms over her chest and looks at me impatiently.

“I want your company on a little adventure.” I beam a friendly and inviting smile her way.

“I am much too busy for such nonsense. Besides, there's already Varric and Solas, or even Cullen if you can find him and drag him from underneath his stacks of paperwork, to choose for companionship. You spend most of your free time bouncing between them anyway.” The last is said with a heavy dose of bitterness.

Well, that mystery wasn't very hard to crack.

She's as transparent as Saran Wrap, and as easy to read as a Kindergarten primer.

 

_Subterfuge is definitely not her art._

_But, why the bitterness? Is she jealous? She's the one avoiding me. I guess there's only one way to find out._

 

“I don't want to ask them, Cass, I'd rather spend time with you right now.” I do my very best to look as genuine and earnest as possible.

It's not completely an act, I really do like having her around, but it might be a stretch to say that I prefer it over the buddies I've already bonded with.

 

_Maybe her and I will get there too someday._

 

She blinks at me in surprise, her cheekbones tinting a pretty shade of rose.

“Why?” She asks hesitantly, and it comes out a little bashful.

 

_Why is she... What is… She doesn't... I don't understand..._

 

This is uncomfortable, and I don't know what 'this' even is.

“Because…” I tilt my head and smile at her again, buying for time, needing half a second to think carefully about how I'm going to answer. I decide on the truth because I think that's the best. A thoughtfully worded and friendzoned truth, just to be safe.

“It feels nice to have you around. I feel protected, because you're a badass and I'd like for us to become friends.”

She gives me a small smile and I relax, thinking the worst is behind us. That was well-said right?

“I just thought...” she begins and I tense right back up.

She glances around us, checking for nosey listeners and drops her voice to an almost-whisper. “Everyone says that you prefer the company of men.”

 

_Everyone?!?_

_Who is everyone?_

 

A rumor forcing me out of the closet as a gay man when I'm actually a woman from another world is...

Wow. I'm completely speechless.

When and how did my sexual preferences take priority over demon-dropping assholes splattering the world green?

Wow...

It's not Cassandra's fault for believing the gossip, and I'm not going to take out my frustrations on her. Technically the rumors are true, I'd just rather my life was a little more private. A LOT more private. 

“Yes, I'm attracted to men (two specifically but she doesn't need to know that), but I'd still love to have you as a close friend. As someone I can trust. That'd… That'd be okay, right?”

She looks away and I see her take a breath.

I wait, hopeful.

She turns back and the blush is gone, but she nods and smiles again, this time wide enough to pull at her scar in a way I find charming.

“Yes, I'd like that Lucy.”

I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding and scrape together some of my earlier enthusiasm.

“Great! Then follow me.” I fill her in on the details of my plan along the way.

 

_Whew. That was… different._

_Who knew that each and every conversation I have with these people would be so challenging. I never thought I'd ever be wishing for dialogue wheels!_

_And this is still just the beginning, the tip of the iceberg so to speak. Relationships will get more complicated and my wording will get even more important as we go. I hope I don't screw anything up._

_It's daunting, like a great chasm of 'daunt' with a cymbal crash of 'ting' on the end._

 

  
“Will these work?” Her words draw me out of my head full of thoughts, and she gestures at a large pile of unused boards heaped nearby.

Probably set aside to use as logging stands. As if I'll ever be able to tell a good placement over a shitty one.

“They'll be perfect.” I grin at her and heft the top-most one onto my shoulder, letting the end drag in the snow behind me as I make my way back to the spot I've already picked out. She picks up the next in the stack and follows my example.

Of course, hers doesn't drag.

For once I don't mind her being obviously better than me at something. I know now that I can out lie her, any day of the week.

 

_And that's something to be proud of?_

_Solas would be... Where is he anyway?_

_Probably frowning disapprovingly at snow somewhere._

 

It makes me smile as Cass and I work together, dragging, placing, and pounding nails. Now is the best time to get to know her better, so I start chatting, asking her all the questions I can think of about her history and her life. Unlike the Haven conversations I remember from the game, she doesn't seem suspicious of my motives, answering readily and relatively easily. Even her frowns, sneers, and disgusted snorts are at a minimum, leaving me to believe that we might just be able to pull off this friendship thing.

“Does it trouble you?” Her nod indicates the mark on my hand.

“Not really, not anymore.” I forget about it most of the time now that it's not sparking at random intervals with painful, acidic lightning searing up my arm.

Pushing up my sleeve, I follow the jagged tribal-like pattern with my eyes, twisting my hand this way and that, watching the way the the fungus maze changes with the movement.

“Solas believes if we try again, that it will work… permanently. We just need the same level of power used to open the Breach in the first place. Unfortunately, that's not easy to come by.”

 

_You have no idea…_

_It took many real-time hours/days/weeks, and I didn't even finish the game. There's no telling how long it'll actually take while living every painful detail._

 

“It sounds like you have a plan.”

“It'll take time, but we do.” She doesn't elaborate further and lets the subject move on to lighter things.

We talk and work until it's finally finished. Taking a step back, I brush my hands off on the leather-covered fronts of my thighs and admire our handywork. It's just like how my mind pictured it!

Standing by my side, Cassandra studies it too.

“Well, I'm not sure exactly what it is or what it's for, but it's definitely sturdy.”

I turn to her, surprised. “I told you what it is already. It's a bulletin board.”

“Yes, but what do you use it for?”

I laugh because I didn't know that what I thought was a simple concept hadn't translated completely, and yet she still did most of the work building it with me.

I throw an arm around her shoulder and squeeze her lightly in a side hug, not caring if we were at the friendly affection point in our relationship. One more squeeze and I let her go, walking over to my invention with excited steps.

“It's a way for us to communicate. To share our concerns, needs, and wants. I think it'll be helpful, I really do.”

“Then I'm glad that I could help. Thank you for including me,” she says solemnly.

I shove her playfully. “Don't thank me, Cass! I had fun! Now go on with all that important stuff I've kept you away from.” I make a shooing motion but keep my smile in place.

The moonlight makes her eyes twinkle. They shine like starlight, almost too damn shiny.

 

_Oh shit. Is she crying?_

_Cassandra doesn't cry, she's too tough. At least I always thought so... Is everyone here, secretly lonely and just covering it up?_

 

I start to say something, consol her, even though I know I shouldn't dare, but she interrupts with a playful shove of her own. A much firmer playful shove.

By the time I shake the powdery white from my eyes, she's gone.

 

_Okay. I guess that went well then?_

 

All that's left to finish off my wooden masterpiece is the very first paper request. I head back over to my cottage and rip out a thick page from binding of my sadly blank drawing sketchbook. Before I leave, I take a second to lovingly pet the plain leather cover, with a finger.

 

_Soon, my precious... My paper beloved... Soon..._

_I'm so creepy sometimes._

 

But it gives me an idea.

Changing directions mid-stride, I flop down at my table and lose myself in my own world. A creative world of darkness, deep ebony and slate, with the lightness of highlight, the white wings of an angel and muted ash of a burned out fire. It's a world I know intimately, one free of cautious words and maneuvering, where quiet is the glide of priceless silk along my skin.

I'm lost in the texture of the heavyweight paper, in the sensation of dust under my fingernails. And there I stay in absolute peaceful contentment as time slides by. And when I'm done, I sit back and look with a critical eye, aware that all of Haven and Hobo Hottie will see this notice.

I am pleased with what I see, there is nothing I would change. If a drawing of a comb could be brought to life, I have succeeded.

Then, at the top, in the best calligraphy I can muster with my current supplies, I write:

 

STOLEN PROPERTY ~ RETURN IMMEDIATELY

 

After a quick wash to get the charcoal and chalk from my fingers, I proudly I return to the newest Haven structure. Bouncing on my toes in barely concealed excitement, I carefully nail the corners to my bulletin board.

I'm smoothing out the last crinkle when–

“Interesting...” A deep voice with a rough, gravelly quality startles me, and I whip around fast, almost dropping the hammer on my foot and barely jumping back in time to miss a hellacious amount of pain.

Cullen, in full Commander regalia, is standing a few feet away,

I brush my hair off my forehead, trying to look composed and probably failing. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough for it to be embarrassing.” His expression is amused.

 

_For me or for you?_

 

I can't help but laugh, mostly at myself.

He steps closer, glancing at my posting curiously. He reaches out and lightly touches the edge of the paper, as if afraid of smudging the picture. I appreciate the consideration, and tell him so.

“This is very well done, Herald, but I'm afraid it seems to be missing something.” He taps his finger on the drawing, for emphasis.

“What? What is it?” My eyes jump back to where he's pointing, in a hurry. I'd been certain that I'd thought of everything, but now I'm paranoid that maybe I had forgotten something after all.

“How will the thief know who they should return the stolen goods to?”

I sag in relief. “Oh he'll know...”

“Ahh. You know who took it then? Why not just ask for it back?” He drops his hand and rests it on the pommel of his sword. Not in a hostile way, more of a often-used unconscious movement.

 

_Because Solas is an ass and every time I talk to him, instead of having a normal conversation and getting some answers to the zillion questions that I have floating around in my brain, I end up locked in a battle of seduction._

 

One that I don't seem to be winning.

 

_I can't say that._

_And I didn't! Hurray! My filter must be working!_

 

“That was my original plan, but there's this cool new board here starving for clutter.” I gesture at the coolness.

He turns his head and examins my artwork closer, with a thoroughness that has me twiddling my thumbs and shifting my weight between feet. “I had no idea you were so good with your hands, Herald.”

My heart flutters at the compliment even as my face flushes at the suggestion beneath it.

A suggestion I'm certain that he didn't mean.

“You too,” I blurt out.

 

_Oh goddess of snot-covered lollipops… I'm such a moron..._

_Ever said that before as a parting comment to someone, only to realize that it doesn't make any contextual sense?_

_Yep, I'm right there, right now. I'm mortified._

 

“Imeangoodwiththeswordstuffandfightingnotuhhhwhateveriamgoingtostoptalkingnow.” The lot is one big word I speak as fast as I possibly can.

Silence reigns supreme and I'm ready to turn tail and sprint back to my cottage. I just suck at the suave stuff. And the everything stuff. I keep forgetting tiny details like that whenever Cullen's nearby, but it all comes back in a rush.

“That’s… Quite a mouthful.” He clears his throat, sounding suspiciously like he might be in a good mood.

“Well, I've had a lot of practice embarrassing myself lately.” My mouth quirks on the edges as my brain cycles through some of my greatest hits, like an episode of The Three Stooges in fast forward.

His lips twitch into something that isn't really a smile, but it looks like it once thought about becoming one. “I'm glad that I ran into you, I have something you might find interesting. Walk with me?” He makes a slight bow with a sweeping gesture of his arm.

 

_What could he possibly need to show me?_

_What would I find interesting?_

_Why does he walk around in full armor all the time?_

_Doesn't metal usually rattle or clink? How did he sneak up on me?_

_And what's he doing out so late anyway?_

_Where are we going?_

 

I bite back the questions, knowing that if I hound him the whole way there (wherever _there_ might be) this good mood of his will disappear. If I'm patient, all will be revealed.

 

_If only…._

_Stop that. Stop it, right now._

 

He stops in front of his tent and I wait expectantly for him to continue, but he ducks inside. To say I'm surprised is an understatement. For one second, I didn't think we were headed to the Den of Depravity. I was rather hoping to avoid it, and the memories it stirs up, for the rest of eternity.

I stand there not having a clue what I should do, scuffing a boot as if trying to clean off the heel while Cullen does whatever Commander stuff he's pausing to do.

Am I supposed to follow him? Wait out here?

“Herald, are you coming?” A muffled question from inside.

  
_Steaming shitake pancakes…_

_I'm not even touching that one._

 

I follow him, screaming internally the whole time.

There's a moment of double vision as my eyes adjust to the candlelight, and I blink a few times to help it along. Once I'm successful, I zero in on Cullen and his hands, that are reaching up to unclasp his feathered friend, Big Bird, the mantle that seems to get poofier each time I see it. He hangs it carefully on what looks like an armor stand, and then begins unbuckling the straps of his chestplate.

 

_Uh._

 

_Um._

 

The gleaming metal, he leans gently against the main stock of the rack. He turns away and steps over to a battered armoire, shedding his shirt into an empty corner on the way.

 

_Uhhhhhh…_

 

_Ummmm…_

 

Nope. I'm not entering the Lust Zone again.

Not gonna happen.

I decide right then and there to ignore him.

Walking over to the worn wood of a over-used desk, I lean a hip against the corner and reach over, lifting the top paper off the neatly stacked, but too tall stack. I quickly skim the writing, thankful English is apparently the Common language here. I read over it a second time while I try to contain my mirth, the paper shaking a little in my hand as my silent giggles wiggle my whole body.

It's an acquisition form requesting, of all things, more acquisitions forms.

“Seriously this is what you do all day? Respond to silly requests like this? More acquisition forms, really?”

At my question, he pauses, leaning his torso backwards out of the armoire and turning his head to look at me.

“Believe it or not, that's not even the most ridiculous thing I've seen today.” He does his best to look serious, but soon let's out a tired sigh and turns his attention back to his search.

_(What is he looking for? A clean shirt I hope)_

“Commander Cullen, leader of the Inquisition army… Sounds like too impressive of a title for this kind of paperwork.”

“And your's is any better? Herald of Andraste. It's quite the title, isn't it? How do you feel about that?”

He continues rifling, grabbing something I don't notice because… Oh pedicure gods of scruffy heels, I've been staring, staring at the cord of muscle in his neck and those scars bisecting the striations of muscle on one massive shoulder.

I avert my eyes and grab blindly for another sheet of paper.

 

 

_**Cullen,** _

_**Mother Giselle was last seen in the Hinderlands outside Redcliffe, tending the refugees who fled the fighting between renegade templars and apostate mages. The latest reports suggest that the vicious struggle between the two groups has spread, catching the refugees -and Mother Giselle- in the middle.** _

_**It is vital to protect her and, if possible, restore order to the area. If Giselle dies, any hope of Chantry support dies with her. My scouts will slip past the fighting, find her, and protect her with their lives since it's doubtful she will leave until we can ensure the safety of the refugees.** _

_**She has requested a meeting with our new Herald, and after conferring with Josephine on the matter, we both decided that the responsibility falls to you to convince him to leave immediately for this mission of great importance.**_  
  
_**Liliana**_

 

 

My lungs and heart freeze in my chest.

 

_This is too soon! Way too soon! I've trained with Cullen only once. I haven't even had a chance to spectacularly fail a magic lesson with Solas._

_What the hell have I been doing with my time?_

_How am I supposed to–_

  
“These used to be mine, a long time ago, before…” His voice trails off when he turns and looks at me, his eyes widen in concern. “What's wrong?”

  
_What's wrong?!?_

_Everything's wrong!_

_I'm unprepared to leave Haven. Actually, unprepared isn't even remotely adequate._

_I have no money. I have no inventory. I have no survival skills. I have very little fighting skills. I don't know how I'm going to learn a lick of magic if all I'm concerned about is licking my way into Solas' pants._

 

Speaking of...

  
My gaze falls on the luckiest and happiest trail of hair in existence. The one leading like an arrow through hills of abs and into his well-fitting pants.

My words garble in my saliva before I can say a single one.

He thrusts the cylindrical objects, clutched in his hands, at me. He looks decidedly uncomfortable, as if he just now realized that the three of us are alone: just him, me, and Lusty Hussy, my clingy familiar who distracts me with muscled objects at every turn.

“Thank you.” My voice comes out a strangled squeak and I can't look anywhere else but at his ankles right now.

 

_Get. It. Together._

_First Solas and now Cullen. Take a break from your torpedo libido for awhile!_

 

I make a decided effort to follow my own advice, focusing on my breathing and everything else in the tent that isn't golden or partially naked. My eyes drop to the objects in my hands.

They look like wrist guards or bracers, well-made from some kind of leather, but thick and lumpy like crocodile skin. Almost black, but with a sheen that reflects the light in tiny triangles in between the bumps. Despite the crisscrossing of random faint lines that look like old teeth marks, I can tell they've been well taken care of.

They're beautiful.

I lift the edge of my shirt, at my hip and hold them up close to my acquired belt from Jackass. Damn son! They match almost exactly, but the braces look like a much higher quality.

A throat clears. “I noticed that you tend to duck and hide behind your hands frequently. I believe that these vambraces will be helpful. You'll need them when you set off on your journey.”

I look up with a wide grin, already mentally bolstered against falling into Hussy's sway for a second time. I am relieved to see that he's wearing a shirt again though.

“Cullen, you rock!”

He looks startled and confused by my exclamation.

“I mean, they're perfect, **you** are perfect! Thank you for your thoughtfulness!” I impulsively reach forward to hug him, but he shys back out of reach.

“It was nothing. Really. Your going to be doing a lot of fighting, and you're fighting for us, I just thought...” His voice trails off as if he's searching for words.

“Don't worry about it, whatever you thought, it was exactly right.”

For the first time tonight, he smiles. It's a quick one, it only happens for a second, and I want to applaud for an encore.

Under his watchful gaze I try on the brace/guards. Well, I **try** to try them on, but the tiny buckles are harder to do myself than a too-tight bracelet one-handed.

“Here, let me.” He's close enough to feel his body heat, and my wrist in his hand celebrates its good fortune. His head is bowed as he concentrates, and I can't see his face easily so I stare mesmerized by gold waves.

Such a pretty blonde...

Having finished with the buckles, he glances up, catching me staring. “Andraste preserve me. The way you look at me sometimes…” He drops my wrist and steps back. “What are you thinking about?”

 

_The exact chemical formula I would need to recreate that shade of blonde awesomeness._

_And possibly a few other less innocent things, all beginning with 'while you're down there...'_

 

“How I wind up being around you MUCH too much when you're shirtless.” Wow. I absolutely didn't mean to say that.

He quirks an eyebrow. “Should we head back to your board to post a complaint?” _Is he making fun of me?_

“I wasn't complaining, but I _have_ been wondering something actually...”

“Will I regret it if I ask what it is you've been wondering about?”

I purse my lips and tap them with my finger, pretending to think about it for a long moment before grinning at him with a mischievous gleam that has him narrowing his eyes. After a minute of silent eyeball contact, he rolls his shoulders like he's bracing himself for something really big.

It makes me grin even wider.

“Fine, ask me.”

“How did you get those scars on your shoulder?” I've thought about this earlier, more than once, but there never seems to be enough time, or be the right opportunity to voice every question that crosses my mind.

“Oh that's it?” He loosens up, his whole body relaxing as he leans against his desk. “Quite a number of years back, when I was young enough to still think myself invincible, I came upon a mother and her daughter fleeing a monstrous beast. The biggest wolf I'd ever seen, with paws almost as large as my hands." He holds one up and spreads his fingers in demonstration. 

"They were terrified, and I just about pissed myself too, I was that scared. I still feel bad about this, even now, but for a moment I thought turning back the way I came. Of course, I didn't, I couldn't just abandon them even though all I had was a sword and those for protection.” He nods at the vambraces now strapped around my wrists. “I fought that wolf with everything I had in me. I won too, but not before he took a few chunks for himself.” He rubs his shoulder at the memory.

  
_So the lion battled the wolf and was victorious..._

_Somehow I don't think the ending would be the same if it was fight with the other Wolf I know. But, damn… wouldn't that be epic? Especially if it was over me, now that's the stuff fantasies are made from!_

_What a great story though, I can totally see Cullen saving the day like a true knight in shining armor._

_Chivalry must run through his veins, the same way caffeine used to run through mine._

 

He's so sweet, I melt a little. Knowing the story behind his gift makes it that much more special and meaningful.

“What happened to them? The mother and the daughter?”

He's starting to respond when a flutter at the entrance surprises us both. He spins to face the brave or foolhardy invader ducking under the tent flap without warning, his body tense and his hand falling to the pummel of his sword.

I can barely see around the hulking breadth of muscle in front of me, so I edge carefully around the side, not making any sudden movements. I'd rather not regain his attention now that he's gone all deadly cookie monster. I recognize the uniform of an Inquisition soldier, and now I know why he stopped himself before exploding into violence.

But he doesn't stop the snarled question. " **What?** "

The soldier doesn’t even flinch. I would totally have flinched.

 

_Maybe he could give me lessons? Something tells me that I'll need them._

_And by something, I meant the thousands of flinch-worthy glares that I’ve already gotten._

 

The soldier's face goes blank, very carefully blank. From a single glance, I can tell he got a peek at Cullen and I standing suspiciously close together, that he has no idea of what he interrupted, and that he isn’t going to mention a word about it.

 

_Smart man._

 

Now that I'm focused on the soldier's face, something tickles my memory. I recognize him... that's–

 

_No way!_

 

“Jim!” I greet the poor soldier with the enthusiastic exuberance I would normally save for meeting a top-tier celebrity. I met Weird Al once, it was a perfect life moment, and that's exactly how I sounded, just now.

Cullen looks at me. “You two have met?”

Jim looks at me too, but his is in abject horror, like I've greeted him with my wiener instead of my smile.

“No, sir!” He denies, his vehemence almost matching my enthusiasm.

Cullen doesn't look convinced. “If you don't know each other, then how does the Herald know your name?”

 

_Oh geeze cheese and puffy butt clamps, don't get the innocent bystander in trouble!_

 

“No, my mistake. He just reminded me of a friend of mine, Jim… uh… Jim Butcher.”

He's still frowning at me with suspicion, but he seems to accept my excuse. “You have friends?”

I clutch my chest, faking being wounded by his words. “Hey! I have friends! Some people even find me charming.”

“ _Charming_ is not the word I'd use, frustrating maybe.”

“Oh, and you're not? Mr. Takes His Shirt Off In The Middle Of Winter, just so that he can pop my eyeballs out with his flexed muscles?”

He runs a hand through his luscious golden locks. “I wasn't–”

“You so were!”

“Herald–,” he begins.

“My name is _Lucy_ ,” I snap at him. “ **Not fucking Herald**!”

“I'll call you whatev–,”

Jim interrupts, clearing his throat in obvious discomfort, reminding us of his presence.

“You!” Cullen barks, taking his irritation out on poor Jimbo. “I have a task for you.” His eyes flick back and forth between the two of us before settling on mine.

“After your performance this morning…( _Was that only this morning? It feels like weeks ago._ ) It was glaringly obvious that you need structure, you need discipline, but most of all you need experience. That's why you'll accompanying this unlucky sodd–”

“Hey!” Jim protests.

 

_Maybe he's not that smart after all..._

 

The scathing look he gives Jim makes him swallow hard. “This _soldier_ on duty tomorrow evening.” He flips back over to me so that I can share in the wealth of his glowering expression. “Even the newest recruit could teach _you_ a thing or two. When they say jump, you jump. Understood?"

“I'm not hopping around if he tells me to.”

The veins pop on Cullen's hands as they tighten into fists.

“I'm just saying...” I add for unnecessary emphasis.

“You're dismissed,” he grinds out and gives his back to the both of us.

Well, to just me, since Jim already vacated the premises.

 

_I didn't even hear him leave._

_Aren't these big, pointy, Spock ears supposed to be good at stuff like that?_

 

Cullen falls into his chair like he has the weight of the world on his shoulders, resting his elbows on his desk, and burying his face in his open palms. I gaze at him in sympathy, watching him squeeze his skull between his hands.

“Have another headache?”

When he twitches at the sound of my voice, I realize his dismissal had been intended for me too.

“Why are you still here?” He grumbles, dropping his hands and leaning back.

“Why is Liliana forcing me to the Hinderlands before I'm ready?” I counter.

“How do you…” He looks down at the stack of papers sitting in the exact center of his desk, now slightly askew from my earlier grasping fingers. “You shouldn't be reading those.”

“I do a lot of things I shouldn't do.”

 

_And not nearly enough, for my taste._

_Quit. Making. Everything. Dirty._

 

“A cleric by the name of Mother Giselle has asked to speak with you. She is not far, and her situation is... precarious at best. Getting her assistance could be invaluable to our cause, and delaying too long could cause irreparable damage.”

“Leaving too soon could cause 'irreparable damage' to me!”

“That's why I told Liliana to give you a couple of days.”

“A couple of days isn't enough time.” Dread pools in my stomach.

“That is the most that we can spare. I suggest you use that time wisely.”

I stand there, my breath caught in my throat, my pulse slamming between my ears, and stare as Cullen stares back at me. Out of arguments and with nothing left to say, I turn on my heel and stride outside.

I walk a ways, looking at nothing and seeing nothing, the world is a blur and my thoughts are a tangle.

 

_Okay, this is happening. You can do this._

 

_~~To do list before leaving to my doom~~  _

_~~To do list before the Hinderlands Hell~~  _

~~To do list before camping in Purgatory~~

~~_Fuck_ ~~

_To do list:_

  * _Stock up on potions from Adan._
  * _Before that, meet Adan and introduce yourself._
  * _Quick trip to find the notes so I can level up said potions._


  * _Magic lesson with Solas._
  * _Before that, jack off so I can actually focus._
  * _At least figure out how it works. (The magic, not the penis.)_



  
Did I just add masturbate to a list of tasks to accomplish before traveling?

I think, I did.

This is not going to end well...

  
_I need a drink, or ten._

  
A steady clatter of boots up and down wooden steps almost seems to match the snatches of a badly tuned lute from within.

Music to my ears.

The aroma of smoked meat, teases and taunts my willpower until it overcomes my self-control, pulling me toward the open doorway like a siren's song.

  
_Good thing there's a tavern that never seems to close..._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The bean bags are fluffed and ready, and so am I. 
> 
> What'd ya think? 
> 
> Your comments and support make me a better writer, so share away. I'm always looking to improve my story. 
> 
> <3


	31. Midnight at the Oasis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's another Sunday Funday!!!
> 
> Piecing together Elven/Elvhen is a headache-inducing labor of unrequited love...  
> (Thank you, Project Elvhen)
> 
> I have spent an un-admitted quantity of hours gladly, just because my Ballers ROCK and I love you. 
> 
> Any and all mistakes are mine and only mine (because I'm not fluent in the language and it's been MANY years since I spent any time whatsoever diagramming sentences). Having said that, I think I have translated properly - Hahaha!!!
> 
> I hope you enjoy <3

 

* * *

 

_A few minutes later…_

 

* * *

 

“Another.” I shake my empty tankard not so subtly in the air. It's my second of the night, which I have downed at what is probably a record-breaking pace, even for the like-a-fish drinkers of Thedas. It'd better be... Damn medieval alcoholics and my naturally competitive nature.

I'm self-medicating. It's all I can think of that will rid my mind of all the horrible... whatever out of my head. 

“See—* ** _hiccup_** *—it’s already workin’.” Making the astute observation to no one in particular.

I'm drinking alone, having already scared off anyone ballsy enough to assume I'd be interested in their company. This place has a name which I didn’t know, or don't remember, and a barkeep who doesn’t ask questions. Or maybe she did and I snapped at her too, I don't recall.

 

* * *

 

_An indeterminate amount of time later..._

 

* * *

 

“………and that my friends is the story of how I lost my virginity to the boy I loved, who later left me for a skank named Serena…,” I mumble into my drink. The bubble in my cup, floating leisurely on the left I named Cole because he's a really good listener, the bubble floating on the right however...

“You mock my pain!”

 

**Life _is_ pain! Anyone who says differently is selling something.**

 

My mouth drops open. That's how shocked I am at the bubbly bastard's audacity. How dare he! “You mocked me once, never do it again! I _died_ that day! You can die too for all I  _care_!”

When I reach out to slap that gasey puffer's impertinence across the rainbow road to the afterlife, I teeter at the sudden shift of gravity.

 

_**Woah...** _

 

There's a firm grip on my elbow, helping the barstool hold up my weight.

“Flissa, how long has he been like this? Why didn't someone come get me sooner?” A beautifully gravelly voice, that seems more suited for humor, is sharp with rage. It sounds all wrong.

“He's only had a few drinks, Varric, I swear!”

I moan in wordless protest as my trusted friends are dragged away in irons. Well, iron. What's this nifty drink holder doohickey made out of again?

“What in the Maker's saggy balls _is in this_? It smells like the backside of a bogfisher!”

I sniff pitifully, filled to the brim with mourning at the dear loss of my two sud buds.

“He came in and asked for the most expensive alcohol we carry. Said to start at tab for Mister Solas.”

Support Guy swears in a long stream of highly offensive and colorful words, and I finally lift my chin up from my chest, squinting at him in admiration.

The world tilts, and suddenly my sturdy barstool turns liquidy, or maybe it's the floor that's liquidy. It's slippery like it's been thoroughly covered in Vaseline.

“Woah there, Loopy. Take it easy, I've got you.” Large hands grasp me firmly around the waist, and I lean against him gratefully.

“Move out of the way, we need this table.” He steers us forward and I move with him, focusing on stepping carefully through slushy petroleum jelly in the wavering kaleidoscope of shifting colors.

 

**Am I smiling or frowning? I can't feel my face.**

 

“Andraste's wrinkled tits, get him some water and some food, or _so help me_ I will make sure this place doesn't earn so much as another copper!” He pauses. “I don't care what kind of food. Some bread and something meaty that's already cooked. Do it now!”

I pat the tense arm soothingly, trying to remember what the odd, blurry shapes scattered around are for. “Izz okay… Mmmmm okay…”

When he settles me down heavily on top of the odd shape, it all becomes clear. Barstools closer to the ground are such a great idea! I wish I had invented that, I'd be rich!

I blink and find a cup of clear liquid hovering under my nose. I reach for it and take an experimental sip.

“Mmmmmmm water. So good.” I take another and miss my mouth, because it obviously must have moved since the last one. Water sloshes on the front of my shirt, which doesn't feel good at all. I pluck at it in disgust, pulling the hem up with the intention of shedding the offensively, uncomfortable garment, but the cute guy at my side stops my movement.

 

**Too bad he's a little short for me.**

 

“Well maybe you're just too tall. Now, keep your clothes on and drink your water.”

 

**And bossy.**

 

He stands there watching me until I give him a wobbly nod, I guess to prove that I understood him, before sinking into the chair across from me.

 

_Chair! They're chairs!_

_Such a useful thing. I wonder how much money I would have made?_

 

He waits patiently until I finish the cup and then leaves to go refill it, bringing the whole pitcher with him this time. He sits at our table and leans forward, resting his chin in his hand.

“Want to tell me why someone came running for me all in a panic, and I find you here, so drunk you can't walk?”

My beautiful, bountiful buzz abruptly hits a sour note as my brain snags, trying to lift the heavy clouds of inebriation.

“Nope.”

He looks at me pleadingly. “Loopy, come on. You can talk to me. Did something happen?”

I eye him curiously. _Did something happen?_ I don't know, but his head sure looks comfortable how he has it propped up, so I decide to copy him. Leaning forward, I rest my elbows on the table too, and after a couple false starts and misses, I succeed. 

 

**Maybe it's just a really small table?**

 

Short Stuff sighs. “You need to keep drinking before Curly gets here and sees you like this. I have a feeling he won't be pleased.”

 

_**Curly? Who's Curly?** _

 

“You'll figure it out, soon enough.” He shoves the cup back under my nose. “Now, have some more.”

Should I be concerned with Hairy Harry's superpower of tele–… uh… telep–…? Mind-reading woo-woo?

Eh....

“Okay, Moe, whatever you say...”

 

_**Get it? Larry, Moe, and Curly?** _

 

He stares at me hard. “It's Varric, remember?” He starts drumming his fingers on the table. "Come on, come on… What's taking so long?" 

“Whiskey before beer, and you're in the clear. Beer before liquor and you'll never feel sicker." Hey, that's catchy little ditty. Yea, for randomness!

I time the words to his table tapping beat, swaying my body and nodding my head, like the super-cool clubber that I am. I start to stand, ready to belt out some more sick rhymes for the lucky folks all watching me with awed expressions on their faces, but Studly Do-Right reaches across the table and pushes me back in my chair.

I cross my arms and pout, irritated. 

 

**Such a fun-ruiner.**

 

“Your fun and mine are not matching at the moment.” He pushes himself up from his chair, only to stop mid-motion and sink back down. “Finally!”

I angle my head and turn to look the same direction he is, focusing hard on the poor waitress coming our direction. Sweat is beading on her forehead and dropping down her temples, getting caught on her bouncy blonde curls like a swirly slide at a water park.

 

_Or a twirly straw. Oh, I wonder if I could ask for one?_

 

I flop my head around on my neck a few times, glancing around at the shabby interior of this dive bar doubtfully.

 

_Yeah, I probably shouldn't bother._

 

The wild look in the waitress' eyes, as she continues our way, clearly means her training hasn't prepared her for this kind of stress. Maybe it's her first day on the job? It's probably difficult as hell to juggle plates heaped with that much food. Especially while two increasingly hungry customers are judging every step, like a couple of very sturdy ladies leaving a Weight Watcher's meeting.

Poor thing. I feel bad for her.

“Looks great, thanks!” My words are still a little slurred, but I grin at her and wink to make up for my sloppiness.

I catch a brief flash of dimples as she smiles back tentatively before my short, but freakishly strong buddy shoos her away. I watch the hypnotizing sway of her hips as she leaves. I'm so envious, she has such a pretty, feminine walk... When she glances over her shoulder at me, she seems surprised that she still has my attention, throwing me a saucy wink of her own.

 

_What a cutie! She seems friendly._

_I wish I could remember her name..._

 

“Loopy.” Shortie snaps thick fingers at me, yanking my gaze back to him and the table full of food. “Drink the water, eat the food, and please do me a favor and stop charming people.”

If this was a comedy sitcom, my stomach would growl right then and there. But it isn’t, and it doesn’t. I dive into the heavenly offering with both hands anyway, my stomach promising me fervently that it has never been this hungry before.

“Why do you call me Loopy?” I say as clearly as I can around a mouthful of food.

“Because I make up nicknames for all of my friends, and you are living up to yours more and more every day.”

I point an almost clean rib at him, waving it around dramatically. “So we  _are_ buddies! I knew it!”

“That alcohol really did a number on you…” He sighs deeply. “Yes, we're friends, a fact that is going to get me in a heap of trouble very soon.”

I rotate clockwise around my plate, moving onto the bread, amazed that I still have the room after packing away the quantity of food I already have.

“Why do you say that?” I'm pleased at myself, proud that all my words are sounding almost normal. I stifle my groan with another mouthful of meat.

 

**Food is amazing. Life is amazing.**

 

My body feels loose and relaxed, with pleasant little tingles that fire every so often when cloth brushes against my skin.

With my hands and mouth busy, my mind begins to wander, rustling out from under the comfy quilt that's blanketing everything with its thick stuffings. Gentle fingers sift through recent events, but nothing seems particularly alarming.

It's as if it all actually happened to someone else.

Varric is saying something and I realize that I haven't been listening. “I'm sorry, what did you say?”

He doesn't repeat himself, he just nods his head to the side, indicating that I should look over at the bar.

I check out the bartender with interest, curious why I'd cause any trouble for him. Is he afraid she'll think we're together or something? I don't think we are…

Her long hair hangs straight to her waist and she's so thin I suddenly feel self-conscious about the slight food-baby I have from my hastily scarfed dinner.

 

**Is her name Flossy? No, that's not right.**

 

“It's Flissa”, he supplies kindly, smiling at me with gentle sympathy.

 

**Wait. Why is he feeling sorry for me?**

 

“Because your night is about to get more interesting. I sure hope you're ready.” Varric's reaches across the table, his fingers pushing my chin a little more to the left.

Oh. Oh my. **_Ohhhhhhhh my my MY._**

“Shut up and drink your water, Loopy.”

  
  
**Was I talking out loud? That doesn't seem right.**

 

“Then try thinking with your mouth shut next time.”

My plate's empty. I push it aside since it's not important anymore. But over at the bar? That's chocked full of interesting...

A man so handsome I keep going back for more, peeking over the rim of my cup, looking for a flaw. Over and over, but I absolutely refuse to stare.

Because that's rude.

Maybe he smells bad, or has a weirdly high-pitched voice? Wherever. Doesn't matter, with someone that attractive, I can work around either.

“I'd do him.” The comment escapes my lips before my slowly-booting brain has the good sense to smother it to death.

The new guy's eyes find me, automatically. Immediately. Like he has a stupid homing beacon or something.

No. That's silly.

I shake my head, then flinch with the suddenness of the movement and focus on the table in front of me.

Varric snorts so badly that liquid comes out of his nose and dribbles down the front of his shirt. I watch in fascination as the droplets get lost in the shiny mass of chest hair.

 

**If I motorboated his chest would the hair tickle my cheeks?**

 

“I'm not exactly sure what that is, but let's… uh… keep that a mystery, Loopy.”

 

**Uhhhhhh do I explain?**

 

“I would rather someone explain why I am here in the middle of the night.” A new voice that is absolutely not high-pitched in the slightest, has joined us.

I peek up at him. And then go back to analyzing woodgrain. 

Sexy Voice Guy glances around the bar taking in all the patrons, I can feel his eyes bore into me. It's only for a moment but feels like so much longer. He speaks clearly and firmly, never raising his tone once yet his voice still carries itself round the room.

 

**I could listen to that voice recite… I don't know, something really, really boring... forever.**

 

I take a sip of my water and give up trying not to watch him.

This time, my elbow even lands on the table mostly where I intended it to. My cheek slides off my palm the first time, but I'm not in a hurry. I have all night to absorb Adonis, he's even better up close.

 

**I want to objectify and sex-ify… and... what was it that he just said again?**

 

As I'm tumbling through my thought, Tall and Handsome turns slow and even, to look me in the eye. There's something in his expression, the steady tightening around his eyesockets, the slight lift of his eyebrows. It makes my spine stiffen, pulling me straighter in my chair and shifting my hands to my lap, folding them as primly as a debutant.

His gaze moves to Varric, and I feel weightless at the instant relief of pressure. Shortie doesn't wilt under the stare like I did, but he does wipe away his smile, his eyes still bright with humor.

 

**What's so funny, all of a sudden? He was all doom and gloom a few minutes ago.**

 

“Loopy and top shelf liquor…” He trails off, shaking his head helplessly.

“I guess that explains the quantity of gold I just handed over to the lovely lady at the bar.” Pretty blue eyeballs swing back to pin me again. “Money that I am certain you do not possess.”

I try not to squirm like I'm in the middle of a hemorrhoid flare up. Why do I feel guilty for no reason? I haven't been this unfairly judged since I set off the metal detector entering a store with nothing on me but my keys and my cellphone. Or there was this one time, I made fun of a girl for putting deodorant on her face. Who actually does that? Or that other time—

“You didn't have to pay shit, I'm not your responsibility.” The protest pops out without warning, surprising me, but once I've said it I feel better.

“ _Is that so_?” He asks, sounding ever so intrigued as he takes a step closer.

I narrow my eyes, but Varric's foot slides out and taps my knee. He wants me to shut up. I bite my tongue and taste the bitterness of self-control.

“Yeah, that's so.” Oops. Wait. Do I have self-control?

I twist my fingers together, pretending I know everything, pretending to be annoyed instead of piss-my-panties panicky.

Then he _moves_ —a casual slide of his hands into the pockets of his brown slacks while he peruses my face—and my whole body tightens like I just got goosed in the ass.

I'm confused, terribly confused. And, there's a random, misplaced pang of jealousy when I observe those pockets.

Why would I yearn oddly for a simple convenience?

“Then why did you tell her differently?” Adonis badgers on as if I actually remember what we're talking about. 

“Tell who?”

There's a pause, like he's counting to five before speaking. _One Mississippi... Two Mississippi... Three Mississippi..._ “The human woman I just mentioned, the one who owns this establishment.” Okay, I was wrong. It wasn't quite five.

“Flissa,” Varric supplies helpfully, because he seems like a helpful guy.

 

**Sounds like a good name for a horse.**

 

Varric's body starts jiggling in an infectious belly laugh, one hand on his stomach. But he quiets down when Tall Guy shoots him a withering glare.

I ignore Sir Laughs-a-lot and my urge to chuckle right along with him, focusing on Sir Dour-Shower. “What did I tell her?”

“That is what–” He starts and then stops, looking taken aback, like something is just now dawning on him. “You really do not remember, do you?”

“Remember what?”

 

_Who's on first? What's on second?_

_Abbott and Costello are awesome!_

 

I giggle.

S.D.S. huffs a few breaths, looking very much like he wants to strangle me politely. My attention drops back to where he's hiding his hands, with those fingers that look so strong and capable. I can't say I'm completely opposed to the idea, in certain circumstances...

“And you allowed this, Master Tethras?”

I open my mouth, offended that he thinks I need anyone's permission, but Varric answers quickly, in my place. “Loopy was already like this when I got here.”

“Yes, the _person sitting right here_ can speak just fine, thanks.” Okay. I'm lying. That is a lie. Varric knows it too, but he only shakes his head at me, smiling the way you would smile at a crazy person that you don’t want to frighten away. He leans over and pats my hand, “Why don't you sit back, enjoy the peace, and let me handle the explanation.”

He's left his plate unattended, his remaining food unguarded.

 

_**Silly man.** _

 

“Ha! When I see a piece I want to take, I don’t hesitate.” True to my words, I snatch the last piece of meat from Vartic's plate, without hesitation, and pop it in my mouth.

My words may have come out more provocative than I intended.

I can't help the double meaning when my eyes are busy absorbing the tight-fitting frame of the tall dude's shirt. For such a lean guy, he fills it out quite nicely. From his rolled-up sleeves and strangely ruffled collar, to the smoothly shiny scalp—he's so distinctively different. I can’t be faulted for having an interest in such a rare spectacle of a man—

Oh, who am I kidding, I'm probably just feeling frisky. 

 

**It's perfectly healthy for a budding flower such as myself.**

 

His build looks like a gymnast, and I've never been with an acrobat before that I can recall...

What would it even feel like to do it in mid-air? What if he was suspended by a rope and I wasn’t, and so I would have to hold on to him for dear life. Moaning as I tighten my legs and arms around all that raw power... Gravity pulling me away while his thrusts would swing us side-to-side. Where would the blood be flowing? And more importantly—how would I get down? 

He's about as carnally aware of me as he might be of an eggplant, so it's ridiculous, having sexual thoughts about him. As I speculate over logistics anyway, I glance at the two men in confusion. Did one of them actually growl?

Wierd.

There's an annoying nudge in my mind, like I'm missing something. My brain isn't floating quite as high in the stratosphere as it once was, but it's still too pleasantly numb to remember very much.

Or care.

At least I can come up with nifty words like stratosphere though...

At some point during my whiskey frisky rabbit tail, Mr. Potentially Aerodynamic has come around to pull up a chair beside us, talking quietly to Varric and ignoring my gaze.

 

_Why does he have pointed ears?_

 

My mind worries away at the thought like a canker sore, each poke less and less comfortable until I give up. Going right back to hydrating, my new hobby, and turning my back to ignore them both.

In truth, I want to skip off and disappear somewhere else.

 

**This is boring.**

 

The legs of my chair make a scraping noise when I get to my feet. Neither of the two men stand with me, but they both look up in surprise.

“Where are you going?” Disapproving Dad asks, disapprovingly.

I shrug, but don't answer because he's not actually my father and I really don't owe him an explanation. Instead, I straighten my spine and weave my way over to the bard set up in a cleared out corner.

A scruffy cutie who hands over the lute without hesitation as soon as I ask.

 

**What a nice guy.**

 

He smiles at me and doesn't protest when I sit next to him and casually strike up conversation as I carefully retune his instrument, strumming quietly. The strings are made from an unfamiliar material, but as a whole it feels similar to a classical acoustic guitar. It feels comfortable in my hands. 

Turns out, Bastian the Bard is the apprentice of some dude named Harritt I've never met, but would rather pursue the life of a starving artist. Except, he doesn't want to _actually_ starve, hence the apprenticeship.

B-Cutie offers to buy me a drink, and I'm instantly furious with myself because my eyes shoot over to Dad. Why am I looking at him as if waiting for his approval? He wouldn't give it and I don't need it, so I gloat over my rebellion and nod my 'yes'.

My new bard bestie disappears to grab us our beverages, but I'm not paying attention anymore, I'm watching as a pretty blue gaze stays steadily trained on the pretty little bartender.

He's staring at her.

And I'm staring at him again.

 

_If he's even aware of it?_

 

But, I notice his jaw clench, the slightest tensing of his muscles. As if he is totally aware of the fact I am, in fact, staring at him and he isn’t missing a single thing going on in the room.

 

_But that would be crazy right?_

 

I look over at Flika. _Hmmmm… that doesn't sound right_. I look over at Horse-face, tipping my newly aquired cup of frothy alcohol in a sarcastic salute, not entirely sure why I suddenly feel a serious animosity toward her.

She's pretty, in a plain-ish sort of way. Small mouth and eyes, round cheeks. Decent, thick brown hair, but nothing to get excited over except for the length.

No, the excitement happens when you looked south of her neck. She has phenomenal breasts. Simply outstanding for such a thin frame. She's maybe five-foot-four, barely, but is easily rocking some double D's. Possibly triples.

 

_What's above that?_

_The boob alphabet is so confusing..._

 

Bastion pulls his chair a little closer and I avert my attention down to my hands, adjusting my grip.

 

**What should I play?**

 

I'm unfamiliar with all of B's suggestions, so I decide on one of my favorites. What's a little 'Wicked Game' between friends? I take a deep breath and stroke the strings, striking the first chord.

 

> _The world was on fire and no one could save me but you…_
> 
> _It's strange what desire will make foolish people do…_
> 
> _I'd never dreamed that I'd meet somebody like you.._
> 
> _And I'd never dreamed that I'd lose somebody like you…_

 

My singing voice is huskier than I remember, but it sounds better that way. I glance up for a second, pulling the audience toward me with my eyes, being careful to avoid a certain table of two. I don't want to be distracted and mess up a song I've played a dozen times before.

 

> _What a wicked game you played, to make me feel this way…_
> 
> _What a wicked thing to do, to let me dream of you…_
> 
> _What a wicked thing to say, you never felt this way…_
> 
> _What a wicked thing to do to make me dream of you…_

 

I feel it. He's looking at me. But why do I care? And why does this song selection suddenly seem like an appropriate fit? I'd originally thought I'd picked it at random, but it doesn't feel that way anymore.

 

> _And I don't want to fall in love,_
> 
> _With you…_

 

There's a painful slice that grazes my heart as the final words fall from my lips. A mild burning behind my eyelids. What the fuck? 

 

> _No, I don't want to fall in love,_
> 
> _With you…._

 

Complete silence greets me as my fingers slow on the strings and I have a moment of panic. Holding my breath, I listen to the crickets chirp for the longest full minute of my life. I open my eyes just as the heavens open and thunderous applause reigns down on me like a storm.

“That was... AMAZING! Could you teach it to me? I was watching your hands, but you'll have to play it again slower and write down the words so I can remember them. That song's unlike anything I've ever heard before!” Bastion is flushed and full of excitement, throwing compliments, and jabbering like a steamroller in a hurry.

My mouth is dry, but I nod at him encouragingly, reaching over and taking a gulp of the sweet mead-like beer.

“Yes, I cannot recall any records of any such music either…”

The breathing and swallowing get confused in my esophagus. A little too complicated with the timely interruption from Glower Shower, and I choke on my next, very mistimed sip.

I hack a second, with a sound closely resembling a dying seal, and Bastion leaps up to helpfully thump on my back, releasing a sexy little burp on the end.

“You… we're... talking with Varric.” The words are said in halting gasps, and I wave away my baby-burping assistant. Bard Cutie stops mid-pat but hovers closely, just in case my next drink has the same unfortunate outcome.

With a flash of teeth too sharp to be a smile, aimed over my shoulder, Mood-killer grabs the cup out of my hand just as I'm raising it back to my lips. The foamy liquid sloshes over the side and onto my shirt, staining the white an unsightly brown.

“Hey–”

He ignores me, turning to my new apprentice/friend and handing him the now mostly-empty container. “I am here, your assistance is no longer needed.”

Bastion steps into my line of vision, clutching the cup, head turning back and forth between us nervously. “Are you–” he begins to ask me, but changes his mind and scuttles off at the loud bark of a throat clearing. Leaving Heavy-handed Dude and I looking at each other in an awkward silence that stretches to infinity.

 

_He acts like he knows me..._

 

I mentally scramble for the wispy clouds of memory, but they slip through my fingers as if they were real clouds, and I'm left with… disappointment.

I feel as if I've just grasped how to read and I'm being forced to stop at the preface of a pulse-pounding novel.

“I'm just fucking dandy. I don't need your 'assistance' either.”

I don't feel dandy or great, I feel a vague sense of worry mixed into my irritation. He was able to frighten off my friend with nothing more than a facial expression and a sound.

 

_Who the hell is he?_

 

“Well, you have it whether or not you agree that it is necessary. This day has been an overwhelming one, long before you arrived this evening, I had not taken into consideration the effect our earlier conversation would have on you. Now, I no longer believe you capable of making appropriate decisions if left alone.”

Blah blah blah more disapproving blah. 

“I was doing just fine before y—” I stop before I finish. My brain is trying desperately to tell me something, and I rub my forehead at the headache that stirs in the place of the numbness.

I can't quite put my finger on it, but somehow I know that at the root of all of this, my reason for being here in the first place, has a whole lot to do with this damn Adonis.

Who's now watching me with his arms crossed and an amused kind of condescension on his face.

I want to rip him a shiny, new asshole but for some reason I hold back. “Don’t look at me like that,” I mutter instead, eyeing him warily.

 

 _You know what they say..._ _Life is like toilet paper._

_You're either on a roll or taking crap from some asshole._

 

I slump in my seat. “This is not how I imagined my night going…”

His expression doesn't shift a bit. “Oh? How exactly did you think a night of drinking irresponsibly would end?”

“Eventually? With me in bed.” _And I was working on maybe having some fine, scruffy companionship before you ruined it._

“Then I shall take you there.” He moves with an unintentional flourish, offering me a hand up. I look at him and then down at the proffered hand like it's a venomous snake fixing to bite.

He raises an eyebrow and waits.

 _Fine_. Sighing, I hesitantly place mine in his, starting to stand at the same time that he tugs and end up slamming into his chest. There's enough momentum that it knocks me breathless, but it doesn't move him an inch.

Almost like he was expecting it.

His hand shifts to my elbow, stabilizing me as I gasp a few times to regain my breathing, before withdrawing a couple feet. I'm ashamed but I can't help but use that opportunity to size him up with renewed interest.

He's even stronger than I originally gave him credit for. Those creative air sexcapades I imagined earlier, may actually be a possibility after all... I wonder...

I try really hard not to look down.

The edges of his eyes crinkle, and he seems to be biting his lower lip to hold back a laugh, probably because I'm looking down still.

I bite my lip as well.

 

**I shouldn't say it.**

 

“Shouldn't say what?”

“Go ahead.”

He shakes his head. “Your thoughts are still jumbled, you are not speaking clearly. Go ahead and what?”

“Take me to bed.”

He inhales sharply. “ _Aria a'las shadera_ ,” he mutters nonsense under his breath, too low for me to fully understand.

“What'd you say?”

“ ** _Aria a'las shadera_** _,_ ” he repeats loudly, as if I'm hard of hearing. 

So NOT helpful. The words are unlike any language I've heard before, and yet… Something registers like the creaking of rusty hinges on a forgotten bomb shelter.

Everything screeches to a hault.

I'm left teetering on my toes at the precipice of full, painful memory. My brain even helpfully supplies me with a name.

 

 _Solas_.

 

I open my mouth twice, only to close it. “Solas, I…” I trail off. What has he been trying to do?

He flicks his eyes my direction as soon as his name leaves my lips and I swear, my body transforms into a sun, radiating heat and light from deep inside my belly.

And with that heat comes another unfortunate wave of sobriety.

Confusion, aborted-panic, and what's left of my post-drinking munchies boil around in my stomach. I open my mouth to speak, but Varric chooses right that moment to walk up and insert himself into the conversation.

“Looks like you're back, Loopy! And just in time to have...” He squints for a second. “Far too little sleep. I think it's past time for you to get to bed.”

“Yes, the Herald and I were just discussing that. There is no need for further worry, I will see that he arrives at his room safely.”

I start to protest, but Solas continues talking smoothly over me, “Thank you for sending for me.”

 

_**Varric** sent for him? Why would be do that to me?_

 

That's when I notice the two men stealing glances and exchanging knowing looks. A shit-eating grin on Varric's face confirms it.

 

**He set me up!**

 

“And that's my cue to leave.” He stifles a laugh and looks toward the ceiling to contain it. “You two kids play nice now.”

I bristle, beginning a scathing report, but this time Solas raises his hand an inch, a clear sign telling me to shut up. My mouth snaps closed and my face flushes tomato-red, as I stand there and watch Varric leave.

 

_What the hell did I drink?_

_How could I forget Solas?_

_It's not like I've seen him every day for several years straight, yet. But, normally I could recognize him even if he dressed in drag._

 

Even sobering up from being drunk as a skunk.

 

_Fuck._

 

“You should have came to me and not tried to drown yourself in spirits.” He quirks his lips slightly. “Of the alcohol variety, of course.” He sounds remorseful, but as he looks at me I feel my cheeks firing right back up, a heat flaring deep in my belly.

But that’s how it is with him.

Every little thing about him just draws me in, and it's kinda starting to piss me off.

Getting away is suddenly priority number one.

“It’s fine, I’m fine. And I'm not ashamed of my choices whether you approve of them or not.” I lick my lips and step back.

“You cannot possibly be _proud_  of your behavior.”

 

_That should have been a question, not a flat statement that sounds like he's a millimeter away from grounding me and taking away my computer._

 

It seriously chafes my ass.

I glance up pressing my lips together tightly so that I don't start yelling curse words about his dubious parentage, but I can't control my eyebrows as they furrow together in a frown.

Taking a deep, meditative breath first, to filter out any explicit language, I say as calmly as I can, “Despite your frequent assertion to the contrary, I am not a child, I'm an adult. And if I feel like having a drink after a long, shitty day, I can do as I please without answering to you about it.”

“You did not have _just one_  drink, you had close to a bottle.”

 _No I didn't, did I?_ “That's an exaggeration.”

“Should I fetch the container so you can see for yourself?”

 

_Why does every conversation with him turn into an argument? And why do I always feel like I lose?_

_Right. Wrong. I don't care at this point. I'm winning this one._

 

“You just want an excuse to flirt with Flossy some more.”  _I hope that's not true._

“Her name is _Flissa_.”

“Surprise, surprise! You know her name. Thank you for proving my point!”  _You judgmental grandpa!_

“ _Felasil_ ,” he says through gritted teeth “ _Ar tel'isala ash._ ”

 

_Huh?_

_Is he one of those people who switches over to his native language when he's angry?_

 

“If you're going to say something to me, use words I can understand, you ass.”

He speaks with exaggerated slowness in a long stream of garble-gook-garbage. By the time he's at the end of the sentence, I can't remember the beginning, let alone begin deciphering it.

 

_Note to self:_

  * _Make new friends, some of my current ones suck._
  * _Preferably my NEXT elf associate will actually teach me what he's saying rather than lord it over me._
  * _Find a way to use 'Fen'harel's tiny, floppy cock' in conversation as much as humanly possible._



 

“Shall we?” He gestures toward the door for me to go first, all expression chilled and frozen beneath a fresh layer of ice.

“No **we**  necessary Solas, just **me**. I'll see to myself, I don't want or need your help,” I say with fake a smile that doesn't reach my eyes. _Take your hot elfy self and your frustratingly sexy elfy words elsewhere._

“I insist.”

 _You can shove your 'insist' into whatever orifice you choose._ “It's not far. I can make it just fine without you.”

“You confuse my politeness for permission. I am not asking.”

“I'm not interested.” _Liar_.

“I do not care.”

My vision starts tinting a little red at the edges.

 

_Never have I dealt with such a overbearingly stubborn man._

_If I want to go left, he goes right. If I go right with him, he decides to go left. Sometimes it turns me on, this fighting, this push and pull of wills. Other times, it just makes me want to kill him._

_Other times, like the present._

 

“You waste time with useless arguments.” He pauses, crossing his arms over his chest, hands gripping tight around his own bisceps. “Where are you going? The exit is on your left.”

 

_Ahhhhhh._

_There's that 'I want to strangle you with my bare hands' look again._

 

I stick my tongue out at him, my fingers making quick work on the laces of my shirt.

“What are you–”

I ignore him, turning my back, heading over to the bar and Flikka the horsey/barmaid. When I see her notice my approach, I add a little extra swagger to my step and casually rake my fungus hand through my hair, letting my sleeve fall back and display the deep emerald sheen of markings on my forearm.

Giving her a slow, sexy smile, I rest an elbow on the bar and lean forward, allowing my mostly-unlaced shirt to fall open. “Hey there, Lovely. Would you mind doing me a favor and handing over the rest of the bottle of what I was drinking earlier?”

She clutches the cloth she'd been using to wipe down the wood surface, to her chest. “I don't–” the words freeze in her throat when her eyes snag on my shirt, widening until they're the size of dinner plates.

Wordlessly, she turns and pulls a bottle I vaguely recognize off the shelf behind her and hands it to me.

 

_Score! Yes! I don't really need tits, lean muscle leaves folks just as speechless!_

_Well, maybe not ALL folks, but it sure worked on her like a charm._

 

“Thank you, beautiful, you're the best.” I give her a wink and shake the bottle experimentally. It's only half gone.

 

_He exaggerated! I knew it!_

 

I pop the pretty glass cork and with a 'cheers' gesture, I raise it to my lips, gulping down as much of the burning liquid as possible before I need to breathe. I'm raising it for more when it disappears from my grasp.

I'm not shocked, I knew he'd interfere once he figured out what I was up to.

Holding the bottle out of my reach, he looks down his nose at me, nostrils flaring. “You are such a _child_. Throwing a tantrum when your _toy_  is taken away.”

“ **Fuck you**."

There's a feminine gasp from the skinny little eavesdropper staring at us in wide-eyed shock.

In one smooth motion, Solas sets the bottle in front of her with a _thunk_  and grabs my chin, tilting it up sharp enough for my hair to fall in my eyes.

There's a violent kind of silence. A blazing rage that washes over his face; I'm almost a little scared.

Definitely a little turned on.

 

_My freak-flag is unfurled and fluttering proudly, like a beautiful butterfly..._

_Like a butterfly in the sky… I can fly twice as high…_

_Like a shepard's crook, in a story book... a freaking rainbow..._

_I can go anywhere, I can be anything. With friends to blow and so many ways to grow, just like a freaking rainbow…_

 

“A predictable and immature response, I expected more from you," Solas snaps bringing me back to the present. "I believe your intellect is decreasing with each swallow of that foul liquid.”

The words just roll off my back like drops of watery sunshine. I smile because I can feel them running down my spine. They tickle, but the fingers digging into my chin do not.

The happy curl of my lips turns upside down.

I beat at his chest with both hands and gain control of my jaw parts again. “Leave me alone, **Sol-ASS**. I don't want you around, it _hurts_  too much.” My voice is loud and flat, coming from a galaxy far, far away.

An altered reality inhabited by a strange, sad man.

He's wincing in pain as if injured.

 

**Strange…**

 

I stumble out a door and head somewhere. I'm sure I'll figure it out when I get there...

 

_Did I hurt him somehow? What did I say?_

_I have no fucking clue..._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's always sad when you reach the end of a chapter and have to wait for the next one, right? 
> 
> Did you like this one? 
> 
> I can't wait to find out <3


	32. Afterparty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Sunday again, let's make it another Funday!
> 
> <3
> 
> My first fanart happened, and what a way to start that Baller-ball rolling!!! Go check it out and see the Lucy that I'm imagining in all her ridiculous circumstances (come on, you know you want to).
> 
> GrumpyD ~ YOU are my jam. I can't wait for more! 
> 
> http://florentinepatches.tumblr.com/post/176569546442/im-in-love-with-a-certain-fanfic-so-i-drew-what-i

 

The night is cool and quiet, soothing. Calm.

 

_Note to self:_

  * _Buy portable wind chimes for perfect occasions like this._
  * _Does that even exist?_
  * _~~Buy portable wind chimes~~. Make portable windchimes._
  * _Do I even know how to do that?_
  * _~~Buy portable wind chimes. Make portable wind chimes~~.Wrap some string around some sticks and give it a whirl._



 

_Solution= I am a freaking genius_

 

The world is beautiful and special. I am beautiful and special.

I feel amazing. I feel reborn in a land of Laffy Taffy bubbles.

I feel _alive_.

The snow is sparkly, crystal marshmallows under my feet. As I step further away from the stairs, my right foot hits something slippery. Unable to activate my cat-like reflexes in time, my feet give way and I hit the ground with a muffled _thump_.

Crystal marshmallows are super  **cold**.

Giggling, I get back on my feet, squatting down and bending over unsteadily, trying to figure out what made me slip. I squint, but It's too dark to see clearly and all I can make out is a dark smear.

 

**Uh oh, Crystal has a blemish.**

 

Smiling sympathetically, I balance on the wonkytown balls of my feet to gingerly wipe away the substance. I wouldn't want her to be self-conscious or anything...

My fingers feel surprisingly wet and thick when I rub them together, and I stare at them curiously, debating on if I should sample the goo cuz it might be really tasty. I decide against it at the last minute, my belly is already full and I'm not hungry, so I wipe my hand off on my pants instead.

Then I notice that the smear seems to trail away, leading further off into the distance just like a treasure map. How cool! Exploring sounds like a great idea, so I follow along the dotted line with the careful weaving focus of a drunk striving to ace a sobriety test.

My guided trail winds around for awhile and then ends abruptly, getting lost among a shadowed treeline. There's another similar smear, a dark slash across one tree trunk about knee-height.

I'm such a badass sleuth! I should be a private detective!

 

_Hmmmm. I wonder how close the clothing making folks here could get to an old-fashioned trench coat?_

 

Rubbing my hand over the neato bumps and divots of the rough bark, I bring my hand up into the light. There's a sticky, reddish substance on my fingers.

Huh? Blood, maybe?

I shrug off the eerie thought and try to laugh, but it's not very convincing. Stupid imagination, it's probably just really thick jelly... That's sounds totally more reasonable... If I was a cop, I'd totally give me an 'A' for effort!

Or is it an 'E' for effort and an 'A' for awesome? 

Maybe I should have been a cheerleader... Wouldn't that be something? I could've been the first Buffy the Vampire Slayer of Thedas! If Buffy was actually a dude because I REFUSE to be Zander, but I don't think I'd mind being Angel though...

 

**Where the fuck was I headed again?**

 

“You seem to be lost.” A voice almost as familiar to me as my own. He sounds hesitant. Tentative. A hand under my elbow pulls me gently to my feet and turns me around carefully, so I don't lose my balance.

Ahhhh. The elusive hobo in his natural habitat. What's Solas doing here? I look around me in confusion, not recognizing my surroundings.

 

**What am I doing here?**

 

_I don't remember… I feel like I've been sleepwalking…_

_God-bleeping donkey dick!_

_What happened? Did I drink too much?_

_Through the large, gaping holes in my memory of the last couple of hours, I vaguely recall a cute guy buying me a beer, some karaoke, and I think Varric was there... Maybe Solas? Things are pretty hazy, but I'm sort of surprised to see him. I would've thought Mr. Arrogance would be avoiding me like the plague since we already had plenty weirdness in my room earlier–_

 

Something shiny catches my attention, a twinkling sheen repeatedly winking at me like lecherous diamonds. My eyes skate across the Epcot-dome of his skull. It's just soooooooo smooth...

 

**I want to touch it.**

 

“It… would be… better if you did not.”

 

**So he like, sort of wants me to?**

 

“I want you to keep moving.”

Sheesh. Fine.

Not really knowing where I'm supposed to be 'moving' to, I pick a direction at random and start walking, glancing backwards only because I'm curious to see if he's following. My eyes pop out and my mouth gaps open when I notice Solas has a shadow of a guy beside him, exactly the same height with the same features, same lack of hair… identical twinsies.

My head tilts in confusion, I didn't know Solas had a hot brother. Does he? That doesn't sound right.

I blink, rub my eyes, and look again. The two wavering forms solidify back into a single one. I stand completely still, staring hard enough that my eyes start to cross from the intensity, and suddenly there's two of them again.

One or two, either way, the real question is...

 

**Are we going back to my place?**

 

“We discussed it.”

 

**We did? When?**

 

He plucks at his sleeve and expels a long breath, frowning at the sky for a moment, as if it displeased him somehow. “It has been a long night for us both, let us just focus on getting you in bed.”

_Mmmmmmm okay with me._

Suddenly pepped up and excited at the happy prospect, I plod along a little faster. My bald eagle buddy/buddies occasionally stepping up and gently correcting my traje... traject-y thingy… He/They change the direction my feet are pointed. Nerves bubble in my tummy at the yummy possibilities every time it happens.

 

**I'm so lucky.**

 

> _I just can't get you out of my head._
> 
> _Boy, your lovin' is all I think about._
> 
> _I just can't get you out of my head._
> 
> _Boy, its more than I dare to think about._
> 
> _La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la_  
>  _La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la_

 

 

I'm happy as a clam, but multitasking is as beyond me currently, as advanced Calculus while swimming in the deep end with a mermaid tail.

I hadn't realized I'd stopped to strut around like a rockstar with an imaginary microphone, until Single Solas strides past me grabbing my hand and tugging me forward. I focus on our joined hands as he pulls me along. 

His wrist is bent a little, his fingers gripping mine, light but firm—an easy cradle. They’re long and elegant, the angles of his wrist and forearm are the same.

 

_He’s just... so well-hewn._

 

**Andddd, I’m lusting after a forearm.**

 

“You are ridiculous,” he mutters as he continues striding forward with measured steps. 

“Yeah? I know you are, but what am I?” I fire back, grumbling mulishly under my breath so low even I can't hear it. He has no right looking so sexy while being a critical, pushy asshole.

He turns his head as if he heard me and I shrink a little. No way. How enhanced is his hearing?

 

_Craptastic piddly puddles._

 

My happy fog is dissipating at a rapid pace, the pastel rainbow of bubbles floating away, popping even faster when I try and capture them with my free hand. 

Damn. 

Pulling up the invisible big-girl panties in my mind, I take a breath and shake off his loose grip. A quick glance around tells me I'm in familiar territory again, relieved I make a beeline for the path to my cottage, passing only a couple guards on the way. It must be late enough that everyone has finally retired to bed, leaving me and Solas (where'd Solas' twin, the probable drunken apparition go?) alone.

My heart starts beating faster. I feel excited and nervous.

Actually, I'm not sure how I feel about the suggestion of going back to my place. Giddy and nervous. Excited and confused. Not a great combination. A lot like I'm going to either throw up, or shit myself. Not fun.

We reach my door and I fumble with the handle, sweating like a diabetic fifth grader.

 

_Open. OPEN, damn you!_

 

Solas reaches forward and stills my hand with his. When I turn to look at him, he brushes one finger along my cheek in a sweet farewell, backing away to leave. “Sleep well, Herald. I am certain you will need as much rest as possible for the trouble you will undoubtedly immerse yourself in tomorrow.”

Wait.

 

**That's it?**

 

I sag against the door and Solas turns back to me in surprise.

“What did you expect?”

I'm not sure. _What **did** I expect?_

“To open the damn door like a normal person, for one. For you to come inside and...” I trail off, suddenly worried that I've gotten the wrong impression.

He cocks an eyebrow. “And… what?”

 

_What should I say? Now, I'm here and I'm floundering._

_Maybe he was just being a concerned friend and making sure I made it home okay._

_Maybe I've misread everything._

 

 **Fuck**.

 

He heaves a gusting sigh, as if overwhelmingly tired. “We talked about this earlier.”

 

 _Oh fuck! I said 'fuck'! As in... He thinks that I was...I wasn't... I didn't..._ _Motherfucking shitballs covered in gravy, I hadn't meant to actually say that out loud!_

_He must think I'm crazy. I'm starting to think it myself! We've been round and round this situation before, so how and why did I get the impression that potential nookie was on the table?_

 

What is wrong with me?

Closing my eyes in embarrassment, I thump the back of my head hard against the sturdy doorframe behind me.

Once.

 

**I'm never drinking again.**

 

Twice.

 

_Is he gone yet?_

 

I peek under my eyelids. Nope. Just staring at me with an odd look on his face. I shut my eyes again.

Three times.

Four.

At five there's a soft touch behind my head, gently cradling my skull and stopping my movement. “You may quit punishing yourself _da'lin_ , it is useless and unnecessary. Besides, I find that I have grown rather fond of your unexpected wit, it would be a shame to destroy it with senseless abuse.”

My eyes snap open. “You can't say those kinds of things to me!”

“I can say anything I would like.” Flashing blue pierces me to the door.

“No you _can't_. You already said we won't... that we can't... you know... with the physical stuff.” I wring my hands helplessly, not knowing what to do with them.

And… He laughs for a really long, slightly terrifying amount of time. I watch him warily as he throws his head back, laughing so hard that he has to drop his hand from my skull to steady himself on the nearby wall. I'm standing and gaping in amazement at the purity of such a beautiful sound.

The novelty wears off, however, after this continues for an obnoxiously long time. Now, it's just agitating. I've wondered more than once what it would take to make him laugh, really laugh.

I find I don't like the answer.

He pretends to be wiping tears of laughter out of his eyes as he faces me again at last. “Oh, your thoughts are so singlemindedly naive. How old _are_  you exactly?”

“Old enough to rock your world,” I say without hesitation.

 

_So, being laughed at makes me pissed._

_And being pissed makes me brave. Or stupid. Or both._

 

With one hand still braced on the wail, he leans down. “I sincerely doubt that _ina'lan'ehn'y'mesilde_.

 

_Did he just insult me? It sure sounded like an insult._

_Like I would know._

_There has to be an Idiot's Guide to Elven Translation somewhere in Thedas. I have a desperate urge to become multilingual just so that I can taunt him back._

_He can't be fluent in everything!_

 

“I think you're too scared to find out.” _And while you're at it, you can shove that 'mesilde' nonsense right up your peepee hole!_

His gaze drops from my eyes to my mouth and he inhales deeply. “I am not that easily goaded.”

I scowl and almost push him away, but my body decides that now is the perfect time to take immediate, embarrassing notice of his nearness instead. With his right arm braced above me, leaned over because of his height, he's close.

Really damn close.

His eyes twinkle a little, travelling downward again very briefly, and I become possessed. It's the only logical explanation for my actions.

A frayed wire. A short circuit. Something. Anything.

It's such a short distance close the remaining space between us, to lean up and feather my lips over his cheek. His skin feels like satin, as soft as a rose petal, no stubble or patches of roughness at all, nothing but pure, uninterrupted smoothness.

It's instinctual, the way my mouth parts as I hover there, the way his scent teases my tongue on my next breath. The same, but different, no hint of citrus this time, just the seductive darkness of that mysterious musk. I want to bathe in it, to rub it all over my body, and draw it so deep in my lungs that it's everywhere, inside and out.

 

_Don't be creepy, you wierdo._

_Don't lose your mind just because he hasn't had a chance to make good use of water and soap. That's not normal, hygiene is important. I should be repulsed by his lack of cleanliness not fascinated._

_Stop._

 

My traitorous mouth opens wider, but only enough for the tip of my tongue to continue the bliss along the edge of his jaw, moving to his neck in sweeping lines and flowing swirls. He tastes like smoke and salt, like bad ideas and fairy tales all mixed up in a heroine/pheromone concoction that I can't resist.

I'm in heaven, and he hasn't moved an inch.

 

_Shit bucket of nuggets._

 

I can't help it, I kiss him again long and languid, right over his pulse, before drawing back. My fingers are shaking, my whole body might be shaking. I need to stop trembling like a virgin. It's mortifying.

He doesn't say anything, only stands there, his expression as undecipherable as ever, nothing to ease my uncertainty. I press my lips together so that I don't blabber about something useless to lighten things up.

Turns out, I don't need to.

While I fumble around, picking at my fingernails and searching for humorous excuses, Solas leans down and kisses me, gently bringing his left hand up and holding my chin between his thumb and forefinger.

 

**_……………._ **

 

**_!!!!!!!!!!!!!!_ **

 

It's simple, just soft press of his lips against mine. No hint of tongue, or anything naughty, really. He keeps me in place, tilting my head at the perfect angle, holding my lips to his. It's very chaste in comparison to anything I've experienced after reaching puberty.

And yet…

My blood is on fire. I feel weak in the knees and lean into him, gripping onto his shirt. Holding back is literally driving me insane. Solas is wild, freaky sex dressed in hobo mage clothing, I just know it.

 

 _Why isn't he tearing into me?_ _Am ready for that? Do I even want him to tear me apart?_

_Oh yes, I most definitely fucking do._

 

“Hmmm,” he hums when he finally pulls away. “ _Mar rodhe ir’on_.”

Huh?

“What… What did you say?” Already certain he won't answer, I gasp the question anyway.

He smiles indulgently and I feel his hands on top of mine, lightly pulling them away from where they're balled in his shirt, denying me my only life preserver.

“I said that you taste delicious.”

No way! I'm completely breathless. As in, I think the air is seriously trying to drown me. My heart decides to beat its way out of my weak, pathetic, silly little rib cage and throw itself at his feet.  
  
“Oh…” I respond with all the eloquence in my arsenal.

“And now that _that_ is over with, and your curiosity has been satisfied. **Go to bed**.”

 

_Over with?_

 

_OVER WITH?!?_

 

He turns to leave again, and my heart bellyflops back in the snow, kicking and screaming, sinking like a stone and releasing my temper to flare without the cumbersome weight of soft-ass emotions. I dart in front of him and he stops abruptly.

 

_He kissed me just to 'get it over with'. Just to shut me up._

 

My thoughts aren't questions, they're flat statements. The flat of a week-long armadillo in the middle of a highway. The flat of a Victoria Secret model before all the rubber boob inserts. The flat of all four tires when the cheating bastard's car is caught outside the wrong location. 

I'm seething, no other words to describe it. 

The world around me and everything in it flares scarlet. Unfettered rage that causes me to lose my hold on reality for a moment. I don't remember moving, just his chest under my palms, and then he's sailing backwards into the snow.

His butt doesn't even have time to leave an imprint, before it's me that's airborne, my back slamming against the wall beside my door. I don't care, I don't even feel the pain. I push off with my elbows, win or lose, I'm ready for a fucking _fight._

He appears in a blink, his whole weight immediately pinning me against the rough logs. I can't move. A sound of frustration tears past my lips, snarling through my bared teeth as I struggle.

I'm completely trapped, unable to shift him off me.

“Ahhhhhh, Lucifer… You should be more careful with whom you choose to play.” He purrs softly, his eyes drifting lazily over my face. Seeming unconcerned with my scathing glare, he casually lifts a hand and fingers a lock of hair at my nape. I snap at his fingers like a wild animal, ready to take a chunk out of him, not caring from where, gaining an inch in the process, but he shoves me back.

The fingers that cradled my skull so gently only minutes before, grab hold of my hair and tighten brutally, keeping my head still. His other hand fists against the wall above us, like it’s taking a concentrated amount of effort not to touch me in any other way.

He pulls down harshly, forcing my chin up higher, his eyes narrowed like he's trying to see directly into my brain. “You have been incessant in your pursuit, relentless in your interest, I have _felt_  the pressure of your desire win out over any other emotion, time and time again. You have won, this round. I relented and you should be elated, but you are furious. Why?”

His ignorance erupts the volcano inside.

 

_How could he ask me that? He should know. **He should know**. He's the one who spoke the damning words in the first place._

_Fucking bastard doesn't care about me at all. I'm just an annoyingly stupid, nagging kid slobbering around after him that he needs to shut up once and awhile._

 

Gritting my teeth so I don't scream my thoughts, I shove against him so hard I think my shoulder dislocates. But I've managed to free a hand. The lucky hand that's whipping up to slap the shit out of him. In one movement, my head is free from his grasp and my wrist is trapped against the wall to the right of my head.

 

_Guess I can't surprise him with that one twice._

_Change of plans._

 

Knuckles slam against the wall to my left, making the whole thing shudder slightly, and he leans down just a fraction. “ **Answer me, you obnoxious child. NOW.** ”

I'm more pissed than I've ever been in my life, but the intensity of _his_ irritation shocks me. I've never seen such a breach of control, him lashing out in such a manner. I've never heard this angry tone before, this level of threat.

Good. Now he knows how I feel!

The bones in my wrist grind together as he squeezes, but I don't even wince. I meet his gaze defiantly, looking into eyes so hot with emotion it actually hurts to see that depth of blue. I'm caged by his arms, his hands, his body. Completely at his mercy. His face is close enough to kiss, but it looks like he'd rather flay me alive.

My blood sings in my veins.

 

_There's something fundamentally wrong with me._

_I think I have a problem._

_One that definitely can't be fixed with more cow bell..._

 

Solas inhales sharply, opening his mouth for the next threat, the next pompous demand for a response. Before he can say a word, I give him the only answer that I can. The only one I want to.

I headbutt him right in the face.

And just like that, I'm free. His hands fail away and he stumbles back, unusually clumsy in his shock. He stands there, completely frozen for a moment with blood dripping slowly from the corner of his mouth.

I shouldn't, but I do. I smile.

 

_Why am I smiling? Fuck if I know._

 

There's a flurry of movement, and I'm expecting it this time, my feet spread and my fists up and ready. What I'm _not_ expecting is for him to scoop me up and throw me over his shoulder. I might have squealed in surprise, but that would absolutely interfere with the whole badass rage mojo I have going on, so I pretend I totally didn't do it and beat on his back with those fists instead.

He spins so fast it makes me dizzy, and my door slams open. _How did he open it with both of his hands digging into my thighs so hard it feels like they're trying to rip me apart?_

Three strides and he's dumping me on my mattress.

It happens so quick that all I have time for is a gasp before he's back at my door. “ _Enjoy your night_ ,” he says politely, but his jaw is shut so tight that it crushes the words and sounds more like a challenge.

I surge to my feet after him. “Stop, right now. This isn't finished! Don't you fucking **dare** leave.”

He doesn't turn to face me, but I see his knuckles turning white on the doorknob. “I… I **can't**.”

“Can't or won't? I swear on all that is holy, Solas, if you leave me like this again, I'll leave too. **I'll fucking quit** , _tonight_! I'll…...”

 

_What the actual FUCK am I saying?_

_I don't have the slightest clue, the threats are just pouring out like lava from a volcano. I think the logical part of my brain checked out somewhere back when our lips were touching. What's happening right now is some kind of unhinged autopilot with a healthy dose of adrenaline._

 

I grab his free arm, and something hot and dangerous sparks between us. I almost moan, but I catch myself in time.

 

_What am I doing? Forcing this? Why? Why now?_

_I'm so angry, and yet... He could eat me alive, and right now, I'd serve myself up on a silver platter._

 

He turns slowly to glance over his shoulder at me, and then pauses, spinning so that we’re facing one another. “You play a very dangerous game with the strings of something you do not understand.” His tone sounds reasonable, but he still has a death-grip on the door.

“ _Enlighten_  me then...” Holy huckleberry honeysuckle shit-toast, I'm quoting Fifty Shades of Grey. Someone get the padded room ready, I need to be committed.

“Copious drinking has obviously altered your mind. Your actions are unpredictable. You do not realize what you are doing, or know what you are asking.”

A new line of blood trickles from his mouth and he absentmindedly wipes it away with his thumb. He examines it for a moment, and then to prove his point without saying anything more, he lifts the finger with the fat bead of crimson blood balanced on the tip so that I can see it shine alluringly in the dim light.

I step up next to him as if hypnotized, and he glances down at me, doing a double take when I grab his hand. Flinching when I put his thumb into my mouth and wrap my lips around it. An act I've done a dozen, a hundred, times to myself. Without thinking, without thought, just a natural reaction. So it makes some kind of convoluted sense to me to do it for him.

 

_What on earth? Why is his finger in my mouth? I've never been the girl for finger sucking foreplay, that wasn't my intention I swear._

_The whole concept is overblown and silly. No man outside of fantasy fiction moans and groans, they just stare at you like you've chosen to ride the short bus instead of a tricked out limo._

 

Solas doesn't make a sound, but there's a strange metallic crunch that I can't quite place. His finger is stiff for a second, then he slides it against the edge of my teeth and presses down against my tongue.

Hard.

The hand that was choking the life out of the handle, wraps around and grips my hip, digging into the bone as he steps around and into me, crowding me back against the door. Rough wood digs into my ass and catches at my shirt, but I don't complain. He slowly pulls his finger from my mouth, scraping it again across my bottom teeth, dragging it over my lips and chin.

It has to be the sexiest thing I've ever experienced.

“Lucy...” The warning is clear. Crystal fucking clear.

 

 _Maybe it's selfish and stupid, too soon, a bad time._ _Maybe it'll make things awkward and strange._

_Fuck it, things are ALWAYS awkward and strange!_

 

“Solas…” I mock, warning just as sternly, deciding that two can play this same game. I lock my eyes on his and open my mouth to speak further but somehow my brain gets confused and instead I press my lips to his.

Yes, that's my story.

Yep.

 

_At least my aiming for misbehaving is right on target._

 

I expect him to push me away, and storm from the room. I'm practically counting on it since that's pretty much my every experience with Solas and intimacy. He does resist, I can feel it in the way his every muscle tenses tight, and just when I expect him to pull away, he surprises me and presses closer.

My lips part in astonishment, and he gives me a slow sensual flick of his tongue across my teeth, across my own tongue, over my lower lip. And then he pulls back. I stumble slightly and my head spins wildly enough to fall off my body as he pushes me backwards into my room.

Again with the short and sweet, the soft and romantic, the chaste kiss for testing waters. And that little bit of contact makes me numb and tingly, like the greatest nicotine high possible.

 

_Holy Ramen god of MSG…_

_If a little kiss like that can make me feel this good..._

 

“I will see you tomorrow. _On era'vun_.”

Wait.

Goddamn it, he's leaving again. But honestly, that's probably for the better... I think I've already pushed him as much as I should for one evening.

 

_Any more would just be plain stupidity._

 

I'm not sure who's more surprised, him or me, when my wadded up shirt hits him square in the back of the head. Do I have a death wish? Maybe... But at least it was a bullseye. 

For a man that usually moves faster than I can follow, removing his newly acquired helmet and turning back around,  takes a reeeeeaaaalllly long time.

“ _You are still upset_.” A muscle ticks in his jaw.

 

_Fuck. Yes. Hello murderous undertone._

 

“A little. Which feels, super silly _mmmmph_ –” My head snaps back when my shirt smacks me in the face.

His hand is gripping my arm propelling backwards deeper into my room, again. Hurting me, again. But not too much. Maybe not enough? 

More. I want more of this. I want all of this.

 

_When did I get so damaged?_

 

His fingers release my biscep and work their way back into my hair, and then he is jerking downwards, hard, forcing me to look straight up at him again. A sound too soft to be a moan escapes my lips as he bends me back too far to be comfortable. I don't resist, I let him see the fear, confusion, and want written plainly on my face, in my eyes as he holds my head in place.

He's all kinds of grumpy-cake. I've gotten to him, ruffled him a bit.

 

_Point goes to me._

_What do I win?_

 

Waring expressions battle across his face, most of them unpleasant ones, stark and pained. It stops me abruptly in my tracks and makes me think, causes me to seriously reevaluate my actions.

There's an uncomfortable feeling low in my stomach, an acidic burn.

 

_He doesn't want to do this. I'm making a mistake._

 

Needles of fire abrade my scalp when he twists my hair cruelly and his whole demeanor shifts. There's a darkness in his eyes, something deep and fathomless, calling to me in the most pleasurable of ways. Even his features look sharper, more feral.

Dangerous.

An ancient predator stands before me, and I'm his prey.

 

_Fen'harel..._

 

I'm briefly seized by an impression of molten black heat before his mouth descends on mine. I'm completely unprepared. I'm not ready.

I don't think I ever could be.

It's everything and so, so much more. I should've been more careful what I wished for...

When he kisses me this time, there's nothing methodical or chaste about it and that thrills me to my very essence, thawing my brief hesitancy. It proves those other times had been carefully calculated. Planned and precise, just enough to pat me on the head and shoo me off to go play with my Lincoln Logs.

It didn't work, it just made me desperate for more.

 

_I might still be begging by the end of this._

 

This though, is all for him, taking what he wants and leaving no prisoners. Lots of tongue, both hands in my hair, yanking. Stinging. Holding my head at an angle, pinning me into place. He likes to control me. Position me how he wants, make it easy to do _whatever_  he wants.

I love it.

I kiss him back like my life depends on it, but that's nothing compared to the way his lips destroy me. Fuck living. He kisses me like he's dying. Like this is the first and last kiss we’ll ever have—and maybe it is.

 

_God, I hope not._

 

Solas doesn't just kiss, he overwhelms. My eyes flutter closed as he drops his other hand, flattening it against my back and pressing me closer. My body reacts like we're headed straight for home run, surging restlessly into hard muscle, my hands locking tight around his neck.

Five fingers claw down my spine and drop further, bands of steel gripping my ass and lifting me with one arm for my legs to wrap around him tight.

He grinds against me, and I can feel _every goddamn hard inch_.

I'm distracted. Really, really distracted by the epicness of his dick. And he knows. Somehow he _knows_. He knows and it _displeases_ him. His punishing grip on my hair gains my attention again, harshly and quickly, and his mouth takes things to a whole new level.

 

_There was another level?_

 

He tastes like blood and liquid moonlight, filtered through a bottomless lake fed by an icy-blue glacier. So cold, I can feel ice crystals on my tongue. I have a moment to feel the ice spreading, numbingly cold, sealing my throat. I can't breath. Panicked images flash through my mind—me, frozen solid, buried in an avalanche.

“ _Enough_!” He shoves me away. 

I scream, high-pitched and terrified, my arms windmilling like mad, bracing for the pain of crashing to the hard floor, only to land on the softness of my bed. I huddle there, shivering. Somehow I still managed to swallow, and my blood changes from ice to sweet honeyed nectar that glows with all the power of the sun. It melts the ice as quickly as it’d formed, spreading warmth through my body.

I shudder at the sensation, and the heat grows, as if I’ve swallowed the sun itself. My insides feel tender and burned, my skin blistered and sensitive.

 

_Holy shit…_

 

I stare at him and he stares at me, both of us breathing hard.

Well technically, I'm breathing hard. He's just slightly winded, but that's more than I've ever observed him to be without a bunch of demons nearby and some serious magic flinging or energy expenditure.

 

_Unless he **was**  burning through a lot of energy..._

_Doing what? Holding back his awesome? If that was leashed, then just how crazy powerful is he? We haven't even left Haven! I thought he was supposed to be weak?_

_And when the hell did we move?_

 

Moonlight pours through the window highlighting the front door.

The _closed_ door.

 

_What the? Where was I while he walking around and closing doors? Was making out with him that distracting?_

 

My brain says 'no freaking way', but body yells 'YES' very, very loudly. If my hand so much as brushed my crotch right now, I would embarrass myself an instant. The hot heaviness of an imminent orgasm has my brain scrambling.

 

 

_April showers bring May flowers._

 

_Eye herpes on a swimsuit model._

 

_The unfortunate underwear-staining side effect of anal seepage._

 

_The sludge at the bottom of the sink after you've let the dishes pile up for over a week._

 

_Those times when your shit's so liquidy that the toilet paper never comes away clean, and you finally just give up in disgust because you've already flushed several times and **damn** that's a lot of fucking toilet paper._

 

 

Annnnd... My pal Donger is still vibrantly interested. Is he getting better at focusing, or am I getting shittier at my distracting superpower?

Virginal son of a butt-fucking nun…

I glance over at Solas and find him patiently watching me collect myself, with obvious amusement. Damn it all to the suburbs, just seeing him looking significantly less than immaculate, his clothes rumpled from _my_  hands has me aching to crawl back for seconds.

He holds up his hand, stopping me before I can even so much as twitch his direction, like he can read my mind. Using the same arm that he picked me up with.

The **one**  arm. How was that even physically possible?

 

_I want to lick it._

 

My pants that already feel two sizes too small, continue to shrink until they're about as big as a baby's onesie. Donger strains against his bonds to be set free. His theme song, most assuredly evermore shall be, 'Bad to the Bone'.

Solas' eyes drop to the front of my pants for a second and then back up to my face, and he raises an eyebrow. “You really cannot control yourself, can you?”

 

_No Sol-ass, I don't have your magical bipolar abilities._

 

“I don't _always_ have this problem.” I resist cupping my junk sarcastically for emphasis, I don't dare touch myself. “ _This_  only happens around you.”

 

_And sort of, a tiny bit, mostly against my will, occasionally Cullen._

 

For a micro-second, he looks like a typically average smug male, but he sobers up lightning fast. “Now you can see why this _situation_  between us cannot happen. It should be obvious.”

“I don't think you're remembering correctly.  _This_ was happening just fine.” I get to my knees and do a few pretty wicked hip gyrations even Elvis would be proud of. I finish off my performance with a couple of suggestive wiggle/thrusts, waving my penis in the air like I just don't care. Making it impossible for Solas _not_  to look again at my package.

“You are…” He closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose and I smirk.

 

_Looks like someone is picking up a certain Sugar Cookie's bad habits…_

 

“Ridiculous? You've already said that.” _I **am** being ridiculous. And brazen… When did I get so comfortable slinging my dick around?_

“ _Impossible_. This is…you are…we can’t…” He's scrubbing at his bald head like he wishes he had hair to pull out for some instant stress relief.

“Well, when you say it so eloquently like that, it sounds perfectly logical and reasonable and I have no reason to have any objections.”

He looks like he's going to backhand me, right I'm my smart mouth, but he blinks hard and composes himself. Much to my disappointment.

 

_Wait. Am I actually disappointed that he's not giving in to the urge to wrestle me to the ground like an alligator in heat?_

_What the ever-loving fuck?_

 

“You persist where you should not, _da'lin_. I almost _hurt_  you.”

I survived didn't I? “This body's a lot tougher than it looks.”

“I don’t mean your physical appearance, it’s your…” He frowns and gestures a hand to indicate my body.

“You just gestured to my physical appearance.” I laugh.

He doesn't.

He shakes his head, still frowning, and straightens to his full, imposing height, squaring his shoulders and firmly returning the grumpy geezer stick back up his rectum.

His eyes lock onto mine.

 

_Uh oh._

_Switching gears yet again. Studious Solas with lecture leakage headed my way._

 

I sigh.

That sexy, sexy _prowling_ walk of his. It's not intentional, it's just the way he is... Just the way he moves... Which makes it even fucking sexier in my book.

“ _Fenedhis_! Seriously? Can you think of nothing else?”

 

_Score! This is the first time I've heard him curse!_

_He isn't really into swear words in general, that's more my job. Although, if I put some effort into it (maybe some time well-spent on my knees), I bet this wouldn't be his last._

_So yes, I guess the answer is: I **can't** think of anything else..._

 

“Yes, I'm sure you have no problems with self-control and can wave away your…" My voice trails off when I make the mistake of looking down and my eyes snag on his pants. Is he still supporting that awesome erection? I squint, but it's dark enough that I can't tell. Maybe?

He clears his throat.

 

_Okay, this is a little bit overkill, even for me. What's going on?_

_**Fuck, fuck, fuck…** _

 

“…fuck, fuck, fu–” I realize that I'm speaking aloud in a weird chug-chug-chug chant and shut my mouth with a snap. But at least he looks mildly humored again.

Maybe he'd consider...

“ **No.** ”

“What? I didn't ask anything!” And that sounded way too final for my tastes. I'm going to change his mind damn it, preferably tonight.

 

_But how? I've never tried this as a dude before..._

 

Flinging my short hair to the side out of my way, true boy band style, or the best imitation I can master. I literally have as much raw sexuality as a plastic container of ketchup. Steeling my nerves for the inevitable rejection and ducking my head so I can't see his reaction, I just go for it anyway.

We've gotten this far. Consequences be damned.

I slowly run the tips of my fingers along the pebbled skin of my chest, my ribs, the flatness of my stomach. Only hesitating when I reach the top of my pants, my impromptu bravery wavering.

Can I really do this?

“ **Stop** ", he commands sharply, catching my wrists before I can go any further, trapping them both behind my back in one long-fingered grasp. I lean toward him, wanting more of his touch, but he keeps his body a millimeter out of reach.

“ _Solas_ ,” I breathe, and his cock twitches, breaching that small space between us. He swallows hard, and I bite my lip, just barely preventing a spontaneous orgasm at that momentary brush of tight flesh against me.

 

_Lord of silicone-free, glow in the dark condoms..._

_I want him._

 

“ **Move**.”

The command startles me and before I realize what's happening, he's pulling away. Breaking his hold on me, and my hold on him.

As my arms fall to my sides, I blink at him in confusion.

With a sound of aggravation, his own hands snatch me up, wrapping around my waist, and squeezing my ribs painfully. He moves me, shifting me around on the bed and roughly pushing me back against my pillow. Grabbing my wrists with cold fingers, he straightens my arms above me so that they're trapped under the softness my head is resting on.

He's done all this in seconds, using only his upper body and one knee on the mattress.

 

_Is he? Are we? Is this actually happening?_

 

I look him wide-eyed. “What are you doing?”

He ignores my question and leans back, sitting carefully on the edge of the mattress and making a casual, offhand movement of his wrist.

 

_Wait. That's his magical gesture!_

 

I resist for the first time, straining towards him trying desperately to touch anything that's close still enough to reach. My hands won't obey me, they won't move from where he placed them, fingertips brushing the headboard.

I arch my back and **pull** as hard as I can.

Nothing happens.

“Solas! Answer me!” He's so close but I can't touch him.

His facial expression is one of steely determination, beautiful lips set in a grim line as he watches me struggle. “You have had your kisses. You have had your _fun_. What almost happened tonight is not in your best interest, nor is it in mine. This romantic notion of yours, these feelings that you believe you have for me, this foolish crush, will cease.”

The heaviness of his words fall harder than the last time I tried to shove my ass in skinny jeans.

 

_I thought we were past this. I thought we were headed for some kinky hanky panky._

 

“No, I don–”

He snaps his fingers and my tongue stops working, lolling to the side of my slack, open mouth like a stroke victim. I chew on the side in frustration, not feeling anything but a trickle of something tickling the corner.

Probably blood.

“ _Uh-king Oh-ass_!” I try and curse at him, but my tongue doesn't cooperate. I redouble my efforts to get free.

He turns my flailing head to look at him, his thumb smearing the metallic-tasting trickle over my lips like it's a new chapstick flavor. He blinks slowly and my lips turn numb.

“I am speaking, and this time **you will listen**.”

I glare at him, trying to convey my displeasure through eye contact. But I stop fighting uselessly against my invisible bonds and he takes that for acceptance.

“What happened between us this evening will not happen again because I **say**  it will not. You do not realize how close you have come to serious injury by pushing your advances, or how many times. You are careless and reckless. Our mission is too important, _you_  are too important, to jeopardize your safety so callously.” He's staring very hard at me, and a muscle begins to tick in the side of his jaw. But his breathing has stayed even and the rest of his body appears relaxed.

 

_Still, though. That muscle._

 

Having said his peace, he reaches out and smooths fingers across my lips once more. I take in a sharp breath, gritting my teeth against the sudden blossoming pain, pretending it doesn't bother me.

“Are you alright?” His voice is low, barely a whisper.

“Nothing is okay,” l whisper back, and he sighs, running his teeth over his pouty bottom lip and tugging it into his mouth.

I almost die.

 

_Ugh. Just stop. You heard him, it's not happening._

 

“No,” he agrees, smoothing his shirt and tugging at his sleeves. “But you will be.” He stands and the bed seems empty without him. “When something is not okay, it is in its purest form. It is moldable. Changeable. It can get worse, or it can better. It can evolve.”

“Seriously? Philosophy, now?”

He nods and brushes that same thumb down the slope of my nose, tweaking the tip. He gives me a small, lopsided smile—a smile that feels distracted, as if he’s only peeking out at me from wherever he is inside his head.

He moves to the door without a sound and turns one more time to look at me. “For what it is worth, this truly is for your protection. In another time or another place, things could have been different.”

I'm destroyed. Utterly and completely.

“ _Why not this one?_ ” It sounds lost and heartbroken. My heart aches and my eyeballs burn like I've been rubbing them with sandpaper. I look up through my eyelashes at him, a fat crocodile tear making a single, lonely track down my cheek.

His shoulders slump but doesn't reply, just gently closes the door behind him. The soft click of a lock giving an air of finality to the whole exchange, that reverberates all the way down to my bones. 

I'm alone and in a daze, hardly able to believe what just happened, let alone deal with it. The rhythm of my heart occasionally jumping erratically from the remembered taste of his lips, and then sinking again at the recounting of his words.

I shift restlessly. 

He just left and I long to see him again, if for nothing else, so he could release the spell on my hands. They still won't budge! I'm beginning to think running naked backwards through a corn field would be more comfortable. 

 

This is the night that never ends...

Yes, it goes on and on, my friend.

I started slamming drinks, I thought it would be fun.

And then I kept on drinking them forever, just because...

This is the night that never ends...

 

_Reminder for completely sober-self:_

  * _Find out the name of that alcohol pronto._
  * _Not sure if I want more of it or to eradicate every last drop from existence._
  * _Whatever. Ask Varric. When I get over being mad at him._
  * _Should I be mad? Because of him Solas–_



 

My internal words stutter as I yawn, already forgetting what I was I about to add to my own mental list.

 

_Wait._

_My door doesn't have a lock…......_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing for ya'll brings me such joy, I hope you enjoyed the chapter! I'm beside myself, waiting in anticipation for your commentary (it's absolutely the BEST part of posting)!!!!
> 
> <3


	33. These Dreams Are Made of Unease

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive me Ballers, time passes quickly! Much MUCH too quickly and I got behind on my writing. 
> 
> No worries, I still love you!!!
> 
>  
> 
> And speaking of love... show some by checking out
> 
> https://www.deviantart.com/joycrux/art/Maker-s-Balls-And-Then-Some-Fan-Art-761273586 
> 
> *edited the link at the suggestion of the lovely artist, who's much more knowledgeable about these things... Silly internet with all its complexities...
> 
>  
> 
> Now without further adieu, Happy Sunday Funday everyone <3

Waking up is difficult. Impossibly difficult.

As if I’m coming out of a drug-induced coma, my mind clicking on dimly, like an energy-saving lightbulb. My brain buzzes with that pesky, startling moment of confusion. My memory is foggy, and so is the mist surrounding me, one shade of dull, unyielding grey.

Cold. Cloying. Constant.

And super DUPER foggy.

 

_What??_

 

Blocks of it, sheets, whole mountains, and nothing at the same time.

I don’t understand...

 

_What's happening?_

_How did I get here—wherever here is?_

_Where the bloody muddy hell am I?_

 

A brief internal inventory of my body assures me that I’m relatively injury-free, my symptoms only those that are commonly associated with being royally hungover. I ignore the annoying ache in my head, squinting through the impenetrable haze.

 

_Oh hufflepuff snuff, this is another goddamn dream, isn't it?_

 

I try to wave the grey away, but I can't move. I try to scream, but my voice is frozen in a throat that won't work, behind a mouth that won't move. The only body parts that I actually have control over are my eyes, and they're completely useless.

Fluttering endlessly, blinking to clear the fog that just won't go the fuck away.

The shrill klaxon of alarm breaks through the silence, muffled and distant. Alien and out of place.

I flinch. Well, my eyeballs do anyway.

 

_Okay, that's pretty freaking alarming..._

 

My unresponsive facial muscles make it impossible to even muster a weak smile at my lukewarm wit. With each passing moment, I'm growing increasingly panicked, my fight against paralysis consuming me. I get absolutely nowhere, but I'm stubborn. I refuse to give up. I seem to be in the habit of waking up imprisoned, and I'm growing VERY tired of that...

My body feels exhausted with strain even though I haven't moved an inch.

Years. Months. Days. Hours. Seconds. Minutes. How long?

 

_Stupid shitty-ass dreams..._

_This may be the worst one yet._

 

Like a freshly-changed windshield wiper in the middle of a thunderstorm, the downpouring of relentless fog suddenly clears with the simple wipe of a hand.

But mine's still trapped.

It's not me.

A haggard man with leathery skin slightly ruddy with sunburn and a long, puckered scar, stands close enough that we're almost nose to nose. One glaring green eye stares at me through the glass.

 

_Glass???_

 

His mouth opens in a sneer as he says something. To me? I don't know, I can't hear. I focus hard on those lips, desperately trying to decipher the words as the deep black of unconsciousness tunnels my vision. Pulls at me. I fight to evade its slippery grasp.

I need to get free. I need to know what's going on!

 

_No! I.……….._

 

* * *

 

Morning sunshine filters across my closed lids, teasing my eyes with golden rays that penetrate into the darkest depths of my consciousness. I blink myself awake. Again. Red alert dissipating from my mind as I take in familiar surroundings.

Relieved, I slump back into the mattress, pillowing my head with my hands.

The birds are chirping. The bees are buzzing. It's a Sunday morning, and I don’t have work. I can just lounge right here all day and read quietly without interruption.

 

_Right._

_Sure._

_And a Disney princess will be flying out of my asshole soon to sing a 'Good Morning Sunshine' song with a full orchestra accompaniment._

 

I sit up slowly in my tiny cottage, groaning in supreme discomfort, my muscles stiff and tight like they usually are. _Just another typical day in Thedas…_ My stomach growls and rolls like the ocean with all the acid and poison from the alcoholic crap I consumed last night.

The pounding two-step in my head serves as a strong reminder for each and every bad choice I made.

Like deciding to drown my sorrows at a bar, and then convincing Flissa the Innocent that Solas was absolutely on board with paying. Oh, and let’s not forget how I finished the night off by throwing myself at him like a kamikaze trapeze artist without a safety net.

 

_Yeah._

_Those all seemed like much better ideas at the time._

 

Last night was a showdown of calamity by anyone’s standards. An apocalyptic dumpster fire level of shit. I wince at the memory. My only chance I have at living through the whole embarrassing mess with minimal discomfort and any dignity at all, will be pretending not to remember much of it.

Or any of it. 

I roll off my bed and zombie-shuffle over to my wash basin, making it about as far as my rug, before giving up and plopping down gracelessly.

 

_This simply won't do. I will not spend the day walking around like I'm eighty with hammer toes and bone spurs._

_I have too much… there's just too much… I can't–_

 

**Breathe**

 

_Be calm. Panicking won't solve anything._

_Things will work out. Mind over matter._

 

I can feel my muscles stretching, my body slowly easing into a starting pose as I let the air out in a thin stream. I breathe again, filling my lungs before I move and slide down to the rug again with the exhale, feeling the tension leave my body.

Yoga’s the closest thing to a sport I’m ever going to accomplish. But, there’s something about the meditative state of pacing my own breathing and allowing myself to let go of stress that always has a way of centering and relaxing me.

Except relaxing today is a little harder to do than normal, and it’s not just because of the dull, persistent ache of the liquor hangover pounding in my head. It’s because of last night, and the circumstances that had began as fighting, evolved into flirting, and then went way further than I ever meant it to go.

 

_Goddess of wet wipes… WAY further._

 

Sure, I’d been drinking, and I was definitely past tipsy. But, chalking up my behavior as I didn't know what I was doing because I was too drunk, just isn’t going to cut it. I'd be straight up lying to myself. I knew exactly what the potential ramifications would be the second I–

 

_Not helping._

 

I breathe again, arching my back.

My butt raises up into the air as I press my palms into the slightly matted rug covering the rough, closely slatted wood of my floor.

 

_Okay, a step or ten further than I should have gone with Solas, but it’s nothing I can’t handle._

_Or rather, it’s nothing I won’t make myself handle._

_Not that I have the slightest idea how I'm going to go about that._

 

Blech… Early morning recriminations weren't on my original agenda for my day; I had planned to sleep in until my pillow was covered in drool and the urge to pee awoke me from my slumber. Maybe grab some breakfast and eventually do something productive before the Hinderlands deadline. 

But I'm awake now, much earlier than I expected, and not in the mood to review my twisty emotions or piece together my disturbing dream.

Nope.

 

_So, let's get this sober party started._

 

I spring smoothly upright from the downward dog pose I was just in, energized and fabulous. I leisurely stroll over to my medieval vanity with perky, rolling footsteps, marveling at my impressive proficiency for compartmentalizing unwanted thoughts.

 

_Hahahahaha!_

_As if..._

 

More like, I jerk up and elbow myself to my feet, almost poking my eye out with my own finger in the process, and mannequin-hop/limp over to Chippy.

It takes some time to accomplish.

During that comical hobble, I catch a brief glimpse of myself in the mirror.

 

_Holy godmother of Ronald McDonald!_

 

I lean hard against the table, clutching the edge and even panting a little, startled to the extreme. I stand there looking down, unfocused, at the well-used and worn porcelain, just breathing in and out, my mind reeling. Only when I'm calmer, do I lift my head again and look back at my reflection.

Stare at it. Try to understand it.

My hair is a crazy, bushy mess, spiking out in every direction like a terrified albino cat. But that's to be expected. Solas' magical method of hog-tying me to the bed must have worn off sometime during the night because it looks like I tossed and turned. A LOT.

 

_Lordy, did I sleep at all?_

 

My eyes are wild and wide, pupils so huge they're almost swallowing the turquoise irises. I barely recognize them. But that can be explained by the lingering side effects of whatever that Pcp-laced concoction was that I ordered last night.

No, what's messing up my compartmentalizing zen is a bit lower on my paler than normal face.

I look... ravenous. Like a wild beast who's just been denied the kill, after he's already had a taste. My bottom lip is smeared with a weird pinkish red all along one side. The stain continues from the corner of my mouth down to my chin, where it disappears under my trembling hand.

I …

I'm …

What …

My mind flashes back to the look on his handsome face as that thumb brushes over my lips in a caress, and my body reacts with blazing intensity. 

 

_My name may be Lucifer, but I think Solas is the real Devil._

_Suck a truck, fuck._

_He's magic and he's the devil. And now he's inside me, in my blood, in my brain._

 

I can't seem to catch my breath, the gulping gasps are getting harder and my fingertips are growing numb. I'm leaning over and putting my head between my knees when I hear footsteps approaching, loud and clumsy in the snow, and everything stops. Even my heartbeat.

Straightening up so fast that my ears ring and my brain throbs behind my eyes, a swelling pressure that I try to rub away with firm circles on my temples. I stare wide-eyed at myself in the mirror as I listen to whoever it is walk closer.

Walk past the window. Around the corner.

Then my door slowly creaks open.

 

_Farting rice krispies cakes with milk!_

 

Without another thought, I dunk my entire head in Chippy's icy waters, submerging it as much as I can.

I stifle a gasp at the shock of it all, because that'd be a stupid thing to do and a surefire way to introduce liquid to my lungs. I squint my eyes shut and blindly reach for the soap, scrubbing my skin off quick, fast, and in a hurry before blotting all the dribbles away. I slick back the wet clumps of hair with a rake of my fingers and turn, pasting a friendly smile on my face.

A smile that falters when I recognize my visitor.

Dimples.

 

_Double duck french toast fuck._

 

“ _What are **you** doing here_?” I wince, instantly regretful of my overly aggressive tone. It wasn't my intention for that to sound quite so accusatory, she really doesn't deserve my hostility.

I remember everything, every mortifying moment.

It's obviously my fault that she's here, my barroom behavior similar to waving the last perfect, full coverage foundation shade of a discontinued line in front of a cystic acne-prone female.

No, it's not her fault, but I was still hoping she was Tiny.

 

_Where is Tiny? Shouldn't she be here?_

 

The answer dawns on me quickly, and I'm even more frustrated with myself. _Josephine_! I got distracted, again. I didn't make my Secret Service servant arrangements, again. And now I have an unwanted visitor in my room, AGAIN.

“I'm sorry, I didn't realize you had awoken, I was only gone for a minute! I left to get you another blanket. It's just... you were shivering and...” She's rambling nervously, which is odd considering her usual extra friendly attitude. Her normal saucy overconfidence hiding behind an endearing hesitancy.

 

_Well, shit. That's... actually kinda sweet of her..._

_It almost makes up for the fact that she was apparently watching me sleep, AGAIN. At least, this time she kept from any inappropriate body touching._

_I think?_

 

Keeping my hobbling gait at a minimum to salvage some pride, I slowly amble over and relieve her of her blanket burden, giving my thanks, and laying it at the foot of my bed.

Turning, I see that she's still exactly where I left her, eyes twinkling merrily while beaming those dimples at me.

 

_Oh. This can't be good._

 

“You may go now.” I say it as gently as possible.

Her smile fades a little, wattage dimming noticeably, and she looks confused at my dismissal. “But I thought–”

“ _You thought wrong_.” That came out too abrupt again. Doggone it. I need to work on my presentation. 

Dimples gulps, but to her credit only shows the acute fear and nervousness for a moment before squaring her shoulders defiantly. “But we _connected_ last night, I felt it! I was so worried when you left that I came to check on you after work, but I couldn't get in. I tried several times, but your handle was broken and your door wouldn't open. I checked over and over but it didn't budge again until I came back this morning.”

 

_Magical restraints? Mangling hard-ass metal with his bare hands? A spell I've never heard of that seals a door?_

_Hmmmm, looks like the bald pony has more than one new trick. There appears to be a never-ending bag of them. What will it take to convince him to teach me some?_

 

I sigh quietly and try again. “That was very thoughtful, Dimples, but you didn't need to worry. Solas brought me home.” _And fed on my face three separate times_.

 

_Annnnnnd… That might just be the fucking creepiest way possible to describe such an intensely PERFECT experience with those amazing lips._

 

The happiness on her face turns up to eleven, almost blinding me with the brightness. “You gave me a nickname just like Tiny! Everyone calls her that now. You see, I _knew_ I was important to you! I can't wait to tell everyone about us!”

 

_Hold up…_

 

“There is no us.”

She's bouncing in place like a bubbly cheerleader that just snorted a pixie stick, she's that damn excited over nothing. I'm left flapping uselessly in the wind. It's like I'm standing here talking to myself, she didn't even hear me.

I'm reconsidering my subtle and nice approach.

What I need is a simple and honest answer to break through her hearing-impaired excitement and combat her ridiculous infatuation. Something to cut to the quick of the matter but not _too_  harsh. For Dimples to spend the entire evening worrying and checking up on me is very thoughtful. Definitely a bit stalker for sure, but it's still a compliment I don’t take lightly. In truth, I'm momentarily sad. She's cute, a relationship with her would be easy and uncomplicated, but unfortunately, I feel nothing other than a pitying sympathy with a vague backwash of irritation.

I wish it could be different, but her delicate beauty, her generous curves balanced precariously on their corset-shelf, and soft feminine voice—it just isn’t for me.

 

_I want to be held captive in a man’s strong arms, with his broad chest against me and rugged voice growling my name, lifting and throwing me around like I weigh nothing more than a toothpick._

_I want the smell of fresh sweat off hardened muscles, plus all the extra inches too. And, I'm not just talking about height._

_I want a love that crosses so many boundaries, pain and pleasure alike, all the way up to the ultimate glorious release. To be together and connected in the most natural way—to become animals, to be taken, overwhelmed and cherished. To be desired beyond desire, that is what my heart yearns for. Who it yearns for. But damn if I could put all that into words._

 

“ **I like dick.** ”

I flinch, wince, and look for a place to hide, as soon as the words pop out of my mouth.

Wow.

 

_Just... wow. Seriously?_

_THAT was the BEST translation of my thoughts?_

 

“I… do…too...?” A world of confusion swirling around those three words.

 

_Bitch say what? No freaking way._

_That was actually too subtle?_

_Really? ......... Really?_

 

I want to boot her ass out the door and spend the rest of the day sighing while rolling my eyes dramatically. Instead, I carefully take her by the shoulders and turn her to face me fully, locking my determined eyes with her beseeching ones. “I’m sorry but I can’t return your feelings. I’m just not interested in women, I like _only_ dick.”

Her broken little gasp makes me feel like the worst person alive. She looks like I just told her that I'm dying, not that I'm attracted to dudes.

It's all so out of this world, strange. Never did I ever once consider that sometime during my life of living as a straight female, would I ever need to embrace the thought of being a gay male. And now I'm flinging that closet door wide and yelling it from the rooftops.

How did I get myself in this situation?

Dimples is crestfallen and teary. Honestly, I think I could have punched her in the face and had it upset her less. For fuck's sake, it looks like she'd maybe even roll with it, thinking I'm into that sort of thing.

 

_And I guess I am? At least, everything that happened with Solas last night certainly seemed EXACTLY my sort of thing. Every touch had felt natural, and good._

_So fucking good._

_Right before he informed me it was never happening again._

_I wish I could forget about that part..._

 

Her watery eyes go wide, and she cups my face in her shaking hands. Her voice wavers, “Of all the times I wished I was born a man... never more than now.” 

You and me both, sister!

 

_Well, except for the being a man part... and stuff._

 

She shouldn't wish for that. I'd switch bodies with her if I could. I ache to do just that, but for purely selfish reasons.

“Please believe that I never meant to string you along or give you false hope,” I say a bit stiffly, striving for gentle and failing, giving her a consoling pat with my fingers to make up for it.

“Thank you,” she whispers, “for putting up with me. I— **sniff** — hope we can stillbefruh…” Dimples chokes up and her words start to slur. I do as any heart-smashing acquaintance/friend would in these circumstances and hold her close, rubbing up and down her spine as she unleashes a torrent of cries and snot down my chest. 

By the sound of things, she'll need a minute, maybe even an hour. I promise myself that no matter how long the sobbing takes, I'll hold her steady. Anyone blubbering their confessions of love to my armpit deserves that much. 

I suppress my eye roll because I fear that if I start now, I will never stop. “You are not in love with me.”

Her wails get louder.

 

_And that's how I end up spending my entire goddamn morning consoling a sobbing woman in my arms._

_I don't know who's more miserable, her or me._

 

I almost wish that something exciting would happen and extract me from this absolutely-deserved torture, but I strike the thought from my mind before I can finish thinking it.

 

_Lately 'excitement' has been synonymous with embarrassing hardship, and my cup is already overflowing with the bitter taste of that particular brew._

 

Eventually, her tears dry up.

Eventually, after promising my eternal friendship over and over MANY times, I'm able to politely get her to leave.

Eventually, I'm back to staring at myself in the mirror, this time my reflection is decidedly more recognizable than the first.

Turquoise eyes and lyrium-like lines, a Fenris fake with hooded eyes leers at me while I brush my teeth. It's a damn good looking body, honeyed skin and lean lines, smooth, interrupted–

 

_Wait._

 

I choke on mint paste, coughing and sputtering, spitting until I think I'm headed straight for puke-town. I wipe my mouth and throw the brush and cloth, not caring about the splatter mess they make when both hit the mirror with a clatter.

No goddamn way.

I look around wildly. The floor, under the rug, in my bed, on the shelf. Everywhere there is to look and it's nowhere to be found.

No. Goddamn. Way.

 

_SOLAS FUCKING **STOLE**  MY NECKLACE!_

 

I almost storm out right then and there, murder foremost on my mind, but I stop myself just in time at the threshold with a snarled curse. I hit the wall with my fist several times, barely registering the pain.

My insides hurt much worse.

Was it all a trick? Another manipulation?

I refuse to believe he could be _that_  cold and calculating. I just wouldn't survive it if that was true. He must have only seen the opportunity present itself and decided to take advantage of the situation.

 

_When? How could I possibly have missed that?_

 

I have to wrestle with myself again.

The entirety of my being demands an explanation, right the fuck now, but I won't give him the satisfaction of knowing how deeply unsettling this is for me. How I'm desperately going over and over every word spoken between us, and every touch we exchanged. How I'm picking apart his behavior, piece by piece. 

No, I won't say a word to him about it, I'll just steal my 'Keeper' necklace back from his thieving fingers.

Or even better yet, I'll steal _his._

 

_Yes!_

_I have to figure out how, and I'll need to wait until he's not expecting it. Yes, a sneak attack out of left field is exactly what I'll do. That jawbone would look mighty fine around my neck, and he'll be forced into my emotionally tender shoes._

_Mark my words, I will make it happen. It will be mine!_

 

Resolute in my revenge plan, I throw open my footlocker/chest and dig through until I find a shirt dark enough to match my mood. Fitted and black, and _perfect_. I'm halfway through pulling it on over my head, when my ears get stuck.

 

_God-bleeping-mother of a goat, that's stiff cartilage!_

 

My painful sound of outrage is muffled, and I dance around with my arms flopping in the air like I'm doing a bleacher seat 'wave', my shoulders trapped tight in the irritatingly unstretchy cloth.

Trying to bend my elbows to get my hands close enough to untangle my huge Dumbo ears is a whole helluva lot like a scarecrow trying to give a breast exam.

And just as uncomfortable.

 

_Note to self:_

  * _Pointy ears are REALLY sensitive._
  * _Any elf I see from this point forward, with ear piercings, has my automatic respect._
  * _Store this information for future use against deserving persons. I have a feeling elf ear-torture will be useful._



 

“We have to stop meeting like this.” The gravelly chuckle accompanies my startled screech and the sound of ripping cloth.

 

_Well, there goes my shirt..._

 

I whip off the fragments and throw the torn bits in a corner with disgusted force, glaring at Varric while I dig through the clothing chest again. Finding the _next_ darkest shade to _half-ass_ match my now _even-darker_  mood. It's looser and shit brown, but it doesn't get stuck, thank heavens for small miracles. Another round of that ridiculousness and I'd be torching the whole fucking mess and going naked.

He leans casually against the doorframe, ignoring my steaming look of hatred. “I can't say I'm surprised to see our lovely waitress from last night leaving your room looking especially rumpled, but I'd be lying if I didn't admit I had money riding on a different outcome for your evening.”

“You don't need to remind me of your ever-scheming ass, Slow Moe. I'm well aware.” I sound pissed. _Good. I **am**  pissed._

If anything, he looks happier, and I'm confused.

“Wonderful, so you remember then! I wasn't really sure if you would or not, you were pretty out of it.”

 

_Shit. There goes my plan for playing the amnesia card._

 

“ _Go away._ ”

“Ahhhhhh Loopy, don't be like that, grumpiness doesn't suit you,” he says cajolingly, trying his best to infect me with his smile. “Mind telling me why Solas is currently brooding outside his cottage, in snow up to his ankles, looking like he wants to eat someone alive? And not in the good way... Does it perchance have anything to do with the irresistible charms of that lovely blonde? I think her name is Vera, Verna, or Veronica, maybe–”

“I call her Dimples. She seems to like it.”

His eyes narrow shrewdly on my face. “Dimples huh? So, the two of you are close then?”

 

_Why does everyone keep assuming that over a stupid nickname?_

 

My arms cross in an exaggerated huff. “Stop beating around the damn bush and just ask what you came to ask! I'm too freaking busy for chatting. I have a thousand things to do and I've been told that I only two days left to do them.”

He nods with a suddenly serious expression, “Okay Loopy, have it your way. Did you spend the night with Dimples?”

I finally give in to the urge and let my eyes roll to the ceiling. “As if it's any of your business, but no I didn't.”

His partially-fisted hand comes up and he rubs his chin while continuing to look at me thoughtfully. “And Solas? Did you spend the night with him?”

“Why are you asking?”

“Why are you avoiding the question?” He fires right back.

“Because I don't understand why you care who I have sex with.”

His mouth drops open with shock and his eyes narrow even more. “You _had sex_  with Solas?”

 

_Oh my virgin god of toe sucking climax!_

 

“……uh…… No?”

The serious look fizzles away to nothing when he laughs. “Are you asking _me_?”

“No! And I... we... didn't, so quit laughing!”

He does his best to stifle his good humor, even pinching his smile flat with his fingers. “I'm sorry Loopy, you just make it too easy. I didn't mean to laugh, I promise.”

“Fine. Now go away.” I try and shoo him outside, but he resists, not budging from his spot.

“Wait! You didn't have sex, but something definitely _did_  happen. Last night can't be entirely innocent, you're both acting too squirrelly for my tastes.”

“I'm not talking about this with you.”

“Ah ha! I knew it, your face is turning red.”

“Because you're making me mad!”

“I think it's becau– **oooffff** ” His words are cut off with an outward rush of air when my elbow connects with his stomach and I push him out the door, slamming it closed in his face.

I lean my back against the door tiredly, not quite ready to throw in the towel for the day yet, but maybe a washcloth though...

 

_I know he's my friend and I appreciate him watching out for me, truly. I will thank him for that later, I won't forget. But, I just can't take more people and prying and problems and…_

_I need a timeout from being the popular kid on the block._

 

When enough time has passed that I'm certain Varric has gotten the hint, I slowly open my door and peek outside.

Good. No one around.

I decide to be tacky and a little gross by circling around behind my cottage to do my bathroom-related business, I'm that keen on avoiding any more interactions for the next several hours.

Maybe even the whole day, if I can get away with it.

In fact, I think I'll go see the gruffly crusty Adan, since he's an antisocial crust-muffin anyway and couldn't care less if I'm getting laid or who the laying might or might not be happening with.

It's quite a trek, honestly, but I don't mind the solitude. I keep my eyes peeled for any movement as I plod along in blessed silence. 

 

_Yes, I'm going the looooong way around to avoid Solas. He's the 'interactions today' that has me rabidly hording my privacy._

_No, I don't want to talk about it._

_I don't even want to think about it._

 

I finally reach my destination and stop abruptly. 

As the ever well-spoken poet Edgar Allen Poe once said, “Words have no power to impress the mind without the exquisite horror of their reality.”

My reality is staring at me all imposing and stone-faced.

Over the years I have collected little tidbits of life knowledge, scraps and bits from friends, parents, teachers, and employers. Pretty much anyone who offered up a touch of wisdom. And I kept those words and thoughts like bits of string, so that I could someday crochet them into a nonsensical afghan that might somehow make my life better or easier.

 

_I don't remember that rock wall being nearly that fucking tall in the game._

 

That's the problem with crocheting—it’s full of holes.

A glaring one the size of a barn, being the climbing aspect of my plan. Circling around behind the apacothary had seemed like an awesome idea, but now I'm leery. Nothing in my arsenal of random knowledge has prepared me for this problem. I've never done it, not like this.

Climbing up a moving escalator doesn't count.

Sigggghhhh….

 

_Did the entire kingdom of Heaven hear that? It was a long one._

_Kingdom... really?_

 

I snort quietly.

  
  
_Okay, time to stop stalling and start climbing. What could possibly go wrong?_

 

And nothing does. At least at first...

It's slow going, very Very VERY slow, but I'm not particularly in a hurry. I should be, but I'm not. For once, I'm by myself, not arguing or confessing, or lusting inappropriately.

It's actually pretty darn nice.

I’ve done all the self-talk, put myself through all the self-chastisement I can stomach at succumbing to my base urges while under the influence. I feel good and bad, satisfied and mortified. I'd just rather not think about any of it anymore.

I begin humming a song I learned in middle school to remember the states alphabetically, to combat the quiet, but I only get to Connecticut before my brain stutters to a stop and have to move on to something else to pass the time. I switch over to song titles and that flows much more effortlessly. About the time I get stuck on 'Q', because I can't get past 'Quit Playing Games With My Heart' and there's something deep inside that rebels against accepting that as a song, I'm halfway up. And no, I don't look down. What part of that would be a good idea?

I do however almost damn near lose my footing and all my progress, when an unwelcome voice intrudes on my solitude.

“Why are you not using the stairs?”

 

_No. No. Nonononono. Just no._

 

Clutching the stones in a death-grip, I take a deep breath to slow down my rapid heartrate and crane my neck back. Sure enough, a bald head is peering over the side looking at me quizzically.

I squeeze the stones even harder, until my fingertips protest. “How did you know where I was?”

“I know approximately where you are most of the time.”

 

_What? Ohhhhhhhh. Of course._

 

“The mind link.” My voice is flat. “I'm growing very tired of that.”

“You are not the only one,” he mutters. Supposedly to himself, but I still hear it clearly which means he really isn't talking all that quietly at all. “You did not answer my question.”

I start climbing again even though the reason for my impromptu foray into bare-handed rock scaling is currently striking up a conversation. “So? You rarely answer mine.”

“That is an exaggeration. I answer the questions that I deem important.”

“You ignore me half of the time at least!”

His silence speaks volumes.

I sputter indignantly at the stone in front of me. “Solas, are you implying that I ask stupid things?”

“Not 'stupid', just uninformed or misinformed.”

“Well, that's why I'm usually asking the question in the first place!” In my passion, I'm not paying close enough attention to my next move and end up sliding down a couple feet before I catch myself. The adrenaline makes my heart race for a full minute.

“Do you need me to help?”

“Nope.” I respond instantly. 

There's a long pause. “You are very stubborn.”

“You've met me before, that shouldn't come as a surprise.” I take another breath and start climbing again. “In case you've forgotten, Hello my name is Lucy, not 'Herald' and I hate being called that. I like long walks in the moonlight and kisses from arrogant, bald men. My hobbies include drawing, occasional drunken singing, and not dying. It's a pleasure to meet you.”

“You are ridiculous,” he says without any fire behind it. The smile in his voice is contagious.

“And you are repetitive,” I can't resist teasing. “Tell me something I don't know.”

“What would you like to hear?”

I'm so surprised that I gasp audibly, swallowing my automatic sarcastic response.

 

_Seriously? He's actually offering some answers?_

_But there's so many questions. What should I ask?_

  
  
I'm overwhelmed at the prospect, but after some thought, I decide on the one repeating most in my mind. “Okay. After training with Cullen, I woke up in my room and you were there. We argued over me being in your cottage.”

“We had a heated discussion about you taking something from my cottage, not you being there. You are welcome in my room, but I would prefer it if you waited until I was available to open the door for you instead of breaking in.”

 

_That's news to me… I didn't know I was welcome in his personal space..._

 

“Fine, a ' _heated discussion'_  then. You started to get nosy all up in my emotions–”

“They are impossible to ignore when you are shouting them at me.”

“I have no control over that, and **stop interrupting**! I was trying to get you to back off on the spying because it's extremely irritating, so I threatened you with naughty thoughts. You said something in elven, not the 'child' part - I'm well aware of what that means, but the other part. What was that?”

He thinks for a moment. “You mean _av'ahn ga_?” 

I melt a little in my boots at the sexy words before catching myself and shaking it off. “Yeah, that sounds like it,” I say as nonchalantly as I can. 

“Would you like the literal translation?” He smirks, his head still hovering over the side but closer now.

 

_What is he doing, laying belly-down in the snow just so he can talk to me?_

 

I huff and puff, frustrated. “Just tell me what it means!” 

“ _Question everything_.”

 

_'Question everything'? In reference to what?_

_Crap._

_What exactly did I say to him? I've slept since then, things aren't as fresh. Something about masturbation?_

_Shit, I don't want to ask him details about that! I'll sound ridiculous._

 

“I was quite surprised that morning, but I admit that it was… interesting.” His smile grows wider. “And over surprisingly quickly as well.”

 

_Is he making fun of me being a two pump chump?_

_Am I in an alternate reality where Solas is a teasing flirt?_

 

I decide to move right on past this particular line of questioning and on to my next one. “And what about–”

“As much as I have enjoyed this interlude _Herald,_ ” he interrupts smoothly. “You do not seem any closer to reaching the top.”

I'm irritated that's he's shut down the open interrogation so quickly, but I realize that he's right. Somewhere along the way of this back and forth, I had stopped climbing.

_I hate it when he's right._ “If you're in such a hurry, you could lower a rope or a tree branch or find something useful to do.”

He scoffs and then laughs, a rich baritone that makes my ears hum in delight.

I'm really starting to question my sanity.

 

_Maybe I'm still dreaming?_ _I thought Varric said he looked ready to tear someone apart?_

 

“A tree branch...” He shakes his head, laughing again. _Did he just snort?_ There's an ominous shifting crunch underneath me, following his words, and I'm a little scared. Or, maybe a lot scared. Until I feel a hardness raising enough to support my weight.

He used magic to create a spire of ice as a platform for my feet? Who the hell does that?

 

_Ancient elf gods with nothing better to do than stare contemplatively at snow and plan the demise of the world, apparently._

 

I let go of the rocks gratefully, only to squeak and scramble to find purchase when the shelf of ice continues higher, moving swiftly enough that I'm eternally thankful I somehow manage not to fall off.

I'm sweating and terrified, but it worked, I'm officially no longer dangling. In fact, I'm at the top.

And so is he.

 

_Fuck._

 

My spine is a overcooked noodle.

This just NOT my freaking day…

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Best to confront your problems head on, right Lucy? 
> 
> I can't wait to hear what ya'll think of the chapter! 
> 
> Seriously, it makes my week <3


	34. Falling In My Skin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Sunday Funday my Baller family!! I have missed all your fabulous faces! 
> 
> Thank you for your endless patience with my posting delays. I have a list of responsible adulting reasons/excuses a mile long, but to sum up: life is crazy but y'all are important too.
> 
> So to prove it, here's my next chapter. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> <3

It's official and uncomfortable.

My stomach has stuck its proverbial thumb out and hitched a ride straight to Ulcer City. The damn thing is churning and burning so much that acid is starting to hike up the back of my throat. I'm afraid that if I burped now, there'd be a puff of smoke accompanying it, like a gassy dragon with fire constipation.

I feel a sudden, strong sense of kinship with the coyote in that old cartoon who just had the floor sawed out from under him.

Sawed with lots and lots of dynamite.

And extra grenades.

Maybe a whole goddamn tank.

 

  
_Will I ever tire of looking this man like he is the answer to all my romantic princess dreams?_

 

I'm equal parts doubtful and hopeful.

 

_Will I ever gaze at all that stupid perfection and not be moved to natural disaster levels of destruction?_

 

Even less likely.

 

_Whoa..._

_I need to slow the fuck down. I’m like one fantasy away from tattooing his name on my ass._

 

  
So, here we are. Just the two of us in our little piece of Haven. Exactly what I was enthusiastically risking a broken neck to avoid. Confronting the circumstances that make me shrink and shrivel inside like a dried up prune. _I'm not ready._

 

_I'd rather be finger-fucking a porcupine._

 

Of course, all the time and space in the world won’t change the fact that one night of a few kisses with Solas is about a million times hotter than any night of actual sex I've ever had before in my life, and I've had some pretty damn good sex.

Literally, a million times... Which still doesn’t mean I can completely wrap my mind around the fact that _it actually happened_. That's one of the reasons why I didn't want to be this close to him. Why I was so desperate for that distance.

 

_That's one, there's many MANY more._

 

“Uh… Thanks, for the lift.” I say about as awkwardly as possible, addressing the white slope of powder nearby. I'm avoiding looking at him at all costs. _I'm not ready._

“Thanks are unnecessary, I only did what needed to be done.”

I stand, like a fool, with my heart in my mouth and my insides in knots. I’ve thought this through, over and over, while pacing my room in circles. Everything I’d say if I ran into him accidentally, how I’d brush the whole thing off with a shrug as if it wasn't any big deal, just a casual makeout session between friends. No strings, no sudden declarations of love, just some kisses. But I'd only pictured an across-the-room situation. All my preparations mean absolutely nothing when I'm face to face with him. I'm tongue-tied and pitiful, like being twelve all over again and forgetting which classroom I should be in.

I was supposed to have some time to adjust my perspective before the nearness of him scattershotes damn holes throughout my system like a torn pair of emo fishnets. I thought I'd at least have the day. _I'm not freaking ready._

I have nothing, my mind as blank as sperm splatter after a successful vasectomy, so I throw myself into the only option currently left available, I start edging away. He sidesteps and blocks my escape with his body, reaching and turning my head his direction. I don't fight the movement, but I stubbornly keep my eyes averted, refusing to look at him.

“Ah. I see...” He clears his throat and it sounds painful. “You find my presence disturbing, my actions have strained things between us.”

He still grips my face and I can’t say a word. Embarrassment twists my tongue into a cherry stem bow. 

“I try to be so patient. So careful with you,” he says so softly that I barely hear it. “Despite my intentions to the contrary, my control slipped last night. I am older, and more experienced. I should not have taken advantage of you.” He sighs hard when he finishes. His hand releases my chin and he steps back.

 

_Hold up._

_What?_

 

His words turn over in my stunned mind. I struggle to understand them at first, but eventually the meaning becomes clear. I tilt my head in bewilderment, at him shouldering the blame for both of us.

He’s got it all wrong.

“Y-you… I… What?” I ask, shaking my head, my words becoming garbled in shocked amazement. _Take advantage?_ _How he could even come to such a ridiculous conclusion?_  I stare at the snow as if I can will it to suddenly roll itself into a wise, all-knowing snowman that'll give me the answers I'm seeking.

In my wildest dreams I wasn't expecting this.

The stupid snow is a flat mass of unhelpfullness and I'm still floundering on how to react, when I feel rather than see him take another large step back. “Please accept my humble apologies, if you can.”

My head snaps up and my jaw drops similar to how my pants almost did so many hours ago.

 

_He's asking for my forgiveness??? Are you kidding me?_

_Bloody hell, he's fucking apologizing. That's not..._

 

“ **NO!** ”

He flinches and recoils more, visibly taken aback by my shouting. Huddled in his robe, acting as if the chill air is suddenly colder than normal, he lifts his gaze slowly. It's like he's waiting for a jury to come back with a guilty verdict and the death penalty. “I predicted as much... I do not blame you, the fault is mine. In time I hope that you will forgive my unacceptable behavior.”

His eyes are dark as they rest on me. I shake my head again.

“I… You... Good. Like. Night. Thanks?” My turn to flinch and recoil. My cheeks fire up like I've doused them in gasoline and I quickly look away again, covering my mouth with my hand while my brain screams curses at me.

 

_I'm having a cow._

_Like, I am literally going to give birth to a full-grown, milk squirting cow. Fucking dairy factory._

_So this is me starting over from square one? From the first meeting all over again? Acting and speaking like a complete buffoon when he's near the vicinity of my personal space bubble. Not cool. The exact freaking opposite of cool._

 

Frustration floods my entire being. Now it's not the time to babble and ramble incoherently. I take a deep breath to calm my jangling nerves. And then another, before trying again. “Please don't be sorry! Please! Your behavior wasn't 'unacceptable', it was perfect! And whatever you must be telling yourself about last night being your fault is totally wrong. If anything, it's the other way around.”

Solas throws his head back in uproarious laughter. I listen to him battle for breath, not understanding why he’s laughing, or why it doesn't sound anything at all like the happy kind.

It's chilling and awful. I can't look at that expression on his face. It makes an uncomfortable shiver race down my spine.

“How do you figure that?” he says, and the words sound like an angry accusation. “You are obviously inexperienced. An innocent with a kind heart that deserves to be courted by one of the many other gentle souls who have shown interest, not manhandled with barely contained brutality.”

 

_Awe. That was a sweet thing for him to say. I don't know that I agree with the innocent thing so much, but he thinks I have a gentle heart, that I deserve better than him, that I should be treated like a queen. I mean, he's right, I'm mostly awesome and totally should be..._

_Wait._

_What the hell does he mean 'obviously inexperienced'?_

_Is he implying I wasn't any good?_

 

Well that blows. Me and my hurt feelings want to get out of here. Right now. This isn’t a conversation I ever wanted to have. With anyone, let alone him! There’s not even a thread to pick on my shit shirt to distract me.

“Solas, I was drunk,” I mumble hurriedly as an excuse, surveying the ground with feigned interest. “We forgot our ourselves in the heat of the moment because of our … uh ... mutual interest,” I force out, cringing, not entirely certain of the last bit being evenly mutual. “I knew what my actions would lead to. I wanted them to lead to–” I shut my mouth, stopping the words before I bare my soul to him completely, already uncomfortable in my skin.

“If it is not because of my preposterous behavior, then why go to such lengths to avoid my presence?” He sheds a layer of tension with a roll of his shoulders. Before my traiterious eyes can rebury themselves in the snow, I see his back hunch and them slump even more. “Why can you not even look at me?” His voice is low and quiet.

 

_Preposterous? This entire interaction is preposterous._

_Where is all this coming from?_

 

Oh… damn.…

It strikes me for the first time that by the simple act of avoiding him because I needed space, I’ve hurt him terribly. The realization is oddly painful. The wilted state of this usually proud man is all my fault.

 

_I am a terrible person. But in my defense, I had no idea he'd be so sensitive. Way more than I ever thought. Who knew that this ancient geezer would care enough about me that it would matter so much to him?_

 

Total Debbie Downer. But even in the face of Mr. Mopeyville, the thought warms me thoroughly and brings me a little hope. 

 

_By the way, poor Debbie. She’s seriously type-casted. I'm sure there are super fun Debbie's out there._

_Time for damage control._

 

“I can look at you just fine,” I say as I avoid doing exactly that.

He makes a derisive sound in his throat but doesn't reply.

“ _What_?” I ask, and there’s a grumpy bitchiness to my tone that I didn’t intend. I close my mouth quickly, already regretting the question and resenting my inherent need to make him feel better. I'm torn between my warring impulses. I'm not exactly in the mood to soothe right now. I haven't forgotten the necklace, not hardly.

 

_Reason number two out of a hundred on why nothing great can come from this conversation._

 

“You aim only to sooth my concerns, and you are failing at the task.” His words are distant, cold. As if he's cut himself off from his emotions. As if he's speaking to a stranger.

My prune heart shrivels more. I can't help it.

There's a stinging behind my eyeballs. _Damn it_. My heel taps restlessly, my fingers twisting together, until I stop self-consciously, pushing my hair behind my ear and tucking compulsively several times. Finally, I heave a breath through my nose in acceptance. And then I look at him.

Meeting his eyes fully for the first time, I'm begging him to see the truth there. As soon as our gazes meet and lock, all the random background chatter from Thedas folks milling about, fades beneath my rushing pulse. The chilly air becomes hot, and tense, and stifling. Sizzling with… knowing… sizzling with the memory of–

 

_Reason number three._

 

I avert my focus right back to the charming snow pile and he sighs.

“How will we function as a team in battle if you cannot even look at me? I should never have followed you, it was a mistake. I should have left you alone.” He sounds so, so sad.

That's it. That's enough. I snap. “Oh for the love of _Fen'harel's floppy cock_ , stop being so fucking sad! I just needed time! Okay?”

He startles like he just got static shocked in the balls, his gaze shooting back to mine, flicking between my right eye and left a few times. His brows are pinched in confusion.

“Time for what?”

 

_Time to collect the horny pieces of myself and paste them back together._

_Time to stop imagining lusciously naked hobo flesh and shove him firmly and fully-clothed back in the friendzone box, where he wants to be._

_Time to get shit done without getting pulled into all these long-winded conversations that make me squirm._

 

I know the man is some kind of genius, but wow does he act like a dummy sometimes...

And, damn it all, I'm looking at him again.

I distract myself with the stitching of his undershirt, but it doesn’t help much. As soon as he shifts and I see the hint of muscle movement, I'm back up to his eyes again.

“I needed _time_ , Solas.” I barely manage to croak through my parched, scratchy throat. I lick my lips and try again. “You know, to process things...”

His face is gravely serious and his eyes–

“It's _hard_  to look at you right now, but not _impossible._ ” My cheeks flush again, all thanks to the wonderful courtesy of my awesomely-functioning circulation issues.

“Why is it difficult now?”

“Uh… duh?” It's seriously the only thing I can come up with.

“How is that an answer?”

 

_Why does he have to do this now? Why does he have to question the fine details of my motivations? Why does he have to be so damn observant when I need him to be oblivious?_

_Because that's just my luck._

 

“When I look at you, your face, or your… everything... It's overwhelming right now.”

“Nothing about my appearance has changed, so how does that have anything to do with your heightened discomfort?”

Oh. My. God.

 

_Because we almost fucked last night? Because we didn't? Because I desperately wanted to figure out the particulars of anal sex between two men for the first time in my life? Because you shot me down and had to actually restrain me to the bed so I'd stop trying to rip my own clothes off?_

_Can someone, anyone, save me from this conversation?_

_For the love of Caramel Macchiato flavored edible panties… Please?_

 

I grit my teeth and tilt my chin, looking at him eyeball to eyeball and blurt out the truth. It's all that I have at this point. “You're asking silly questions and being intentionally obtuse. I behave like an utter fool everytime you get within ten feet, I always have. Don't pretend like you haven't noticed.”

“I believed that was just your natural temperament.”

 

_Did the butthurt bastard just insult me?_

 

I chew on the inside of my cheek and try to control myself, try to stifle the urge to slap him silly. I want to skewer him in the chest with a pointy, accusing finger, but that kind of behavior is what got me into this trouble in the first place. I need to stay away from the rough stuff that apparently gets both of our motors running.

“You behave in an almost similar fashion towards Commander Rutherford,” he continues explaining reasonably.

I chew harder.

When the copper zing makes my stomach roll, I stop and decide just continuing being forthright and lay all my cards on the table. He doesn't seem inclined to stop this mortifying line of questioning until I admit outloud the emotions he's sensed.

“Because he's a very attractive man.”

He seems to think this over a moment. “Then what you are saying is that you find me attractive as well? _This_ is what is causing your unease?” He sounds surprised and disbelieving.

 

_How can he be surprised?_

_Am I in the twilight zone? This whole conversation is fucking surreal. Shouldn't that be a given? I didn't think I could have been more embarrassingly blatant if I'd tried._

_Why are we even talking about this?_

 

“Saying you're attractive is like suggesting to a fish, that water is wet. Obvious. Really, really obvious.”

He scoffs like what I said is utter hogwash, and my hand tingles again. I absentmindedly reach down to scratch it.

“I assumed your... enthusiasm... had more to do with your age than anything else.”

 

_Great. So, he thinks I've been up his grill because I'm just a horny kid ready to drop my pants and screw anyone nearby?_

 

I try not to be insulted since I've even compared myself to a teenager with raging hormones. “I am not as young as I look. I'm thirty-five.” It comes out matter of factly, maybe lightly sprinkled with hostility. Because, I said I'd try, not that I'd succeed.

He smiles slightly at that. And just like that, the heavy tension in the air disappears.

“What? Why are you shaking your head at me?” I narrow my eyes. “You should be more careful or the glare on your bald dome will blind me, and then where would we be?”

The smile tugs wider on the right until his cheek creases, and he drops his chin, his head continuing the side to side movement. “You seem rather fixated on my lack of hair.”

 

_I am, aren't I?_

_Is he hairless everywhere? Lord, do I want to know._

_I desperately want to know._

 

“I'm fixated on you.” Wait. No. What?

Shit. Double shit. All the shits.

My stomach makes a nauseating flip. Solas practically reads people for a living, and I know it. Like a hobby or a side job. It's unconscious and ingrained. I can feel how he’s reading me right now. His eyes are dark pools of midnight, the natural steel of his jaw is just as intimidating and just as entrancing as I remember.

My barely-there sliver of confidence deflates even further, my breath unsteady as I dip my head. I’m back to staring at the ground, mainly at his feet, the footwraps so pale against the snowy carpet, they almost blend in. I swallow my embarrassing gasp when his toes move close enough that I can feel the heat of him, his breath stirring my hair.

And then his fingers are under my chin, tipping my face up to his. “Flattery is also unnecessary.”

My eyes widen. “But… it’s not…” I trail off and don't even realize it. His fierce stare could cut me in half and leave me bleeding on the floor. I want him to kiss me. I want him to wrap his fingers around my throat and take away my ability to speak any more stupid words.

But he doesn’t.

I open my mouth to speak, and no one is more shocked than me, when actual intelligible thoughts come out. “Why do you doubt my words? I don't understand, you must feel the sincerity behind them. You're a confidant man, so where is all this insecurity stemming from?”

I think he only means to brush back a lock of hair that's been tickling my cheekbone, but his fingers travel over the bare shell of my ear in the process. The sensation changes my gears faster than a NASCAR driver. A simple sweep of fingers, that if I was a woman, would have felt as intimate as a breast massage with warming oil.

The strangled sound of a waiter finding a thousand dollar tip escapes my throat.

He ignores it. He also doesn't drop his hand.

“Sometimes people break, Lucifer. Sometimes they break so badly the only action they can remember to do is breathe. And that is all they do. Just breathe. Day after day until they can take a little breath without it hurting.”

My name on his lips. One long finger gently sliding from the sensitive skin underneath, following the curve to mid-ear in a gentle caress. Tingles break out all over my body.

Hypnotizing.

“Dreams change in that place. They become about that one little breath, and maybe the one after it…”

Over and over that slight, tiny touch unravels me.

“And it is easy to forget the dreams they had before they broke into pieces. Sometimes the chasm between the inner and outer never quite heals.”

I'm aroused to the point of pain, and hanging on his every word.

“Sometimes the person does not even realize, does not even want to know.” He pauses the almost-tender motion of his fingertip and closes his eyes for a full minute, his brows coming down low as if they can ward off the pain.

I wait until I can't take it anymore. “And that was you?” My voice is hoarse and quaky. “You were broken?”

He glances over a few inches to the left, back at my eyes. He'd been analyzing the hand frozen beside my face as if it belonged to someone else. “ _Ame danem_.”

It's too much. This is all too much. “ **Tell me.** ”

“It means _I am broken_ ,” he states simply, and my heart catches in a hiccup as he exhales slowly and continues. “I am still broken. I am still alone. I just did not know it until I met the 'utter fool' whose very presence demanded that I acknowledge it.”

He lifts his finger away and I think he's done. Instead there's one sharp, pinching tug on my earlobe before he drops his hand and crosses his arms. He freezes in place, then quickly changes his mind and clasps both behind his back instead.

During that second of indecision, an absurdly unfair bolt of nipple-like-tweaking pleasure shoots straight to my groin. A ridiculous moan that would make a pornstar jealous erupts from someone who couldn't possibly be me.

I bite it back, and he finally flashes a smile that shows all his pearly whites again.

 

_And it is beautiful._

_He is beautiful._

_Even his pain is beautiful._

 

He meets my eyes, so unguarded, so open and vulnerable, and in that one moment all the air around me, every ounce of oxygen in the world, seems to disappear. My compassion for him swells until all I want to do is hug him tight and chase away all his insecurities, smother all his pain until it's gone forever.

So that's what I do.

I swoop forward and grab him around the waist. Ignoring my erection like it's not even there, I heft his stumbling and surprised form against my chest, like I’ve just come home from war and he’s already birthed three of my babies.

“ _You are not alone_. While I still breathe, you'll never have to be alone again. I am here. I will always be here. **Always**.” Everything is muffled slightly in his chest as my arms wind around him tightly. I turn my head, resting my cheek over his heart listening to the rhythm. He hesitates, stiffening up for a few seconds before enveloping my whole torso in a return embrace that squeezes my ribs.

“You really do seem to care for me. How is that possible?” There's wonder in his voice and I damn near choke on my unshed tears. The hands that have the ability to cause such passionate torment hold me like a precious treasure. The fingers that previously shoved and forced, now pet my hair gently, soft and soothing motions that express all the unspoken emotions that he's not ready to deal with.

Answering words are on the tip of my tongue, but I swallow them back. It's too soon, much to soon to say them aloud, but I can think them.

 

_I love you, Solas._

 

I embrace him back just as hard and he cradles me in his arms. The hug is so fierce, like I'm protecting him and not the other way around. His hand smoothes down the the center of my back, the other wraps around my waist.

Home washes over me. The feeling that peace is mine to capture as long as this man is near me floods my senses.

 

_Please don't destroy the world, Solas. Don't destroy me, us, the happiness we could have together. Keep the past in the past, where it belongs._

_Don't ever leave..._

 

“Stay with me.” It falls from my lips before I can stop it.

“I will stay,” he agrees warmly. His voice sounds like a smile in my mind, and I smile back slightly as I open my eyes and tilt my head to look up at him. The worried concern, the soul-crushing sadness has faded from his features, and what he sees on my face relaxes him even more.

“I wouldn't want anyone else," I say dreamily, my own teeth showing when a grin lifts my lips high… right until the point I realize what I've just said. "I mean, uh, because your skills will be useful. Invaluable, in fact. Your skills will be." I groan inwardly, trying not to let my embarrassment show too much on my face.

 

_It's so easy to reveal too much…_

 

Solas smiles down at me, the expression soft and surprisingly distracting. "I am pleased to hear it. We will begin your lessons tomorrow. I will make sure my skills are at your disposal wherever you need them."

I push away from him and it feels like I'm lifting myself out of cement. I want to stay. Forever. But touching him is like being a dam hit with a sledgehammer, it's weakening me in structural ways. I allow myself to give him another final squeeze and step back, our arms only encircling each other loosely. I begin to thank him, for what I'm not exactly sure, but he cuts in before I can finish.

“I will stay then, at least until the breech is closed.”

 

_Oh._

_That's what he meant by staying. It's just the scripted dialogue. His plans haven't changed at all._

_I thought we were having a moment. I thought this was meaning something special to both of us._

 

It feels like he just poured lemon juice over my heart that's been artfully serrated with paper cuts. Painful words. Unfair words. Words that threaten to topple the silly putty mortar of my carefully constructed composure wall.

My heart contracts painfully, prune wrinkles multiplying a hundred-fold, my hands dropping numbly to my sides. “Was that actually in doubt?”

He eyes me carefully, tilting his head and speaking slowly as if cautious of my sudden physical and verbal withdrawal. “I am an apostate mage surrounded by Chantry forces, and unlike you I do not have a divine mark protecting me. Cassandra has been accommodating, but you should understand my caution.”

 

_I should, it makes sense, but–_

 

“Fuck your caution. I wouldn't let them touch you.” I use my impressive demon/Liem Neeson voice to add extra threat.

He chuckles, tweaking my nose in a teasingly playful fashion, and I have to stop myself from punching him in the face.

“That is a nice sentiment, but how would **you**  stop them?”

I know he doesn't mean it quite the way it sounds. I know it, but every muscle in my body tightens anyway, contracting like an overstretched rubber band ready to snap, at the condensention threading through that question.

Hello scarlet filter. “ **However I had to**.” Hello snarling undertone.

He grins at the sky, addressing the clouds with barely concealed mirth. “I feel better already. Thank yo–”

Lost in his sarcasm, he misses the movement that would have warned him of my attack. My flying tackle catches him by surprise, and I take full advantage of him completely off guard. Remembering my painful lesson from this morning, I bare my teeth and joyfully clamp down on the very tip of his sensitive elven ear like it's a Slim Jim.

His whole back arches off the ground, almost dislodging me in the process. And a sound tears from his throat that I've never heard him make before. Wordless. Raw. Sexy as hell.

 

_Honestly, I damn near spontaneously orgasm._

 

Every inch below my bellybutton throbs with interest as I dig my heels in, readying myself for his retaliation, but it makes no difference. Our inner beasts are unevenly matched. A fact that becomes apparent when, with an actual motherfucking roar, he grabs my wrists and bucks hard, wedging a knee under my sternum, he flips me over his head and onto my back. Like it's the easiest thing in the world. As if he does badass, martial arts style throws every day. 

Ow. Ow. Owwwwww...

The coordinating slam from that sudden, violent motion knocks all the wind from my lungs. I lay gasping on the icy ground for only a couple of seconds, scrambling to get my elbows underneath me for leverage. He's on me before I even get a chance to sit up, his weight pressing down and forcing me deeper into the snow.

His eyes eat me up but I hold mine firm. Defiant. 

The darkness there makes my blood burn.

My demons wave at his, and I swear his wave back.

I feel the ghost of a shiver up my spine. We stare at each other in silence, both heaving large, gusty lungfulls. _Seriously, people finish marathons less out of breath._ He makes no move to pin me further, both hands braced above my shoulders, the length of him digging into my belly. Pleasure sparks everywhere at the possibilities and I squirm in delight, trying to inch my way up so our crotches line up like the insane sinner that I am.

One long-fingered hand snakes around my throat and squeezes, choking off another moan before it barely had a chance to form. “ **What. Are. You. Doing.** ” His fingertips are making delicious things happen to my body.

I feel every word on my skin, they curl in my stomach, huddled along side those over-worked and underpaid butterflies he employs solely to torture me.

His jaw clenches, and I can feel his wrath rolling over me in waves. It surrounds us, hanging in the air as though he has the ability to use his raw fury as a weapon.

Male, dominant, wild, barely in control.

I try to answer, I really do, but he's cut off my sound along with my air. My skin feels tight, and my heart thuds against my breastbone. My mouth gapes open and closed like a fish trying to breathe on land, my vision starting to waver with floating spots. My fingernails claw at his forearm and I push off with my feet, rocking upwards with my pelvis as hard as I can, seeking to dislodge him. It doesn't work nearly as well on him as it did on me.

I'm starting to get a little worried.

 

_I know he won't kill me, but is he actually gonna choke me until I pass out?_

 

I beat at his chest with flailing fists, but I'm getting weaker. In a last ditch effort I grab the outside of his elbow with one hand, cup my palm with the other, and with as much force as I can muster, I slam it into the side of his head right over the eardrum of the ear I just gnawed on. Twisting my body at the same time and heaving him to the side with all my might.

Air. Blessed oxygen. It burns as I gulp greedily, filling my starved lungs to maximum capacity.

I half expect him to come barreling back to take advantage and punish me some more while I'm vulnerable, but he doesn't. Turning my head to the side, I see him sprawled out on his back to my left, both of us spread out as if we're planning on making snow angels sometime soon. He just lays there, but I think he senses me looking because he turns his head.

He narrows his eyes at me and stares, so I narrow my eyes and stare right back. I can play this narrow-eye challenge game all day, buddy.

 

_Oops, I blinked. Dammit._

 

“That was–”

“An excellant reinforcement of the Commander's earlier training lesson. Great show of commitment you guys.” A slow but overly-loud sound of clapping penetrates the rushing blood in my ears, dissolving our silent elfy staring contest.

Varric holds out a hand to help me up, but addresses the crowd of onlookers. “There's nothing left to see here and you all know that you have better things to do, so move along.”

 

_Wait._

_Crowd???_

_Fuck._

 

Peeking sheepishly around with hurried glances, I can already see the clusters of Haven residents making assumptions about me in hushed voices… They’re about as subtle as your boyfriend going down on you wearing a gas mask.

I pull myself upright, using the proffered support gratefully, being careful not to fuel the rumors and watch as Solas slowly climbs unaided to his feet. He takes an inordinate amount of time pulling his sleeves down to cover his thumb joint, and straightening the line of his robes until it falls smoothly in place around his ankles.

 

_He is, without a doubt, the most aristocratic hobo I've ever seen._

 

Yeah. So I'm watching his every tiny movement with a strange, vibrating energy. Not unlike a dog sitting and waiting impatiently for his favorite treat.

Varric continues waving people away like he's a cop protecting a crime scene. With nothing left to rudely gawk at, the impromptu audience disperses, leaving me alone with two deeply disapproving men.

 

_Goody._

 

“The **last**  thing we need on top of everything else, is people seeing us fighting amongst ourselves. I expected better control from you Solas,” Varris hisses quietly while shooting the much taller man a scathing look.

“It wasn't all his–” I start defensively.

I cringe when Varric rounds on me, turning the full weight of his glare my direction. “And **you** , Lucifer! Don't you think you've gotten yourself in _enough trouble_ already?”

 

_Holy nightgown-wearing Mod Podge king, Varric's using our names. Our real names..._

_That. Is. Not. Good._

 

“It wasn't like we planned–” I try again to explain.

He makes a negative motion with his hand, interrupting me mid-sentence. “I don't want to hear it. I don't have time to babysit two grown-ass men.” He cuts his eyes back to me scowling. “ _Again_.”

I look over at Solas for help, but his jaw is shut tight, his lips a firm, unhappy line. “But–”

“I said I don't want to hear any excuses. The next time you two decide to _flirt_  or whatever the fuck that was, do me a favor and keep it behind closed doors.” He looks between us again and sighs out a gusting breath, pulling the flask out of the flapping side of his shirt and taking a sip. “I'm getting too old for this shit,” he mutters before taking an even larger gulp.

Noticing my rapt attention on his working esophagus, Varric sighs again and then shrugs, offering it to me. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch elfy eyebrows coming together in a frown, so of course I snatch a swallow for myself. Although, I do keep it a tiny one. Last night wasn't so long ago that I've forgotten that particular poignant lesson.

“Now, I have more important matters that need my attention. Try acting like adults this time and don't kill each other as soon as I leave.” And with that parting remark, he tucks the flask back into its hidden pocket and turns on his heel, heading for the stairs.

 

_Ships could sink around us; bombs could explode._

 

It's only the two of us again. The second everyone departs, we're on each other in a heartbeat, like horny mud wrestlers. The hot breath and glistening sweat, whispered prayers and groaned curses.

 

_Okay, that's all pure fantasy. I'm totally down for it though._

_Just saying..._

 

“Well, that was fun!” I say overly brightly, clapping the remaining bits of snow off my hands and the seat of my pants.

His expression is blank. I can’t glean anything from it.

“It certainly got the blood pumping!” I continue on with forced cheerfulness, giving him an exasperated look, trying to figure out the best way to rekindle our previous rendition of an uplifting Lifetime movie.

 

_Maybe I should hug him again?_

 

It’s tense and deadly silent. I close my eyes so I don’t have to see his horrible, hard face.

 

_Okay. Maybe not._

 

But not looking is even worse. I'm cracking at the seams. My pounding heart is trying to beat some common sense into my brain again. It's not working.

“We could even, like totally spar again sometime! But... uh... next time, no cheap shots while you're not looking.” _What the ever-loving valley-girl fuck pants am I saying? Shut up!_ I try to smile past the grimace, in the face of his… whatever this is.

It like he’s standing in silent judgment, taking my measure. His gaze evolving with each word out of my mouth until it's full of something indescribable. I struggle for anything else to say, strung so tightly I feel my spine may crack from the strain. I watch as he shutters his expression. The burning in his eyes slowly fades as contemplates me.

I step closer, as close as I dare. Because I'm a glutton for punishment. I could reach out and touch him.

“So... uh… yeah.. Great talk!” I hold out my fist for a bump, completely forgetting in my supreme moment of cringe-worthy awkwardness, that he wouldn't have a clue what on earth I'm doing.

 

_As if **I** know what the hell I'm doing..._

 

Solas looks down at my hovering hand like he’s found a rainbow leprechaun dueling a dancing cricket in the wild. His eyebrows come together harder, until there's a furrowed crease between them the size of the grand canyon, but he doesn't say anything.

 

_We’re absolutely going to discuss the effectiveness of this silent treatment crap later. I'm damn sure not bringing up more potential argument fodder while I'm too busy patching my flubbing foundation fissures._

 

We both hear me swallow.

We both choose to ignore it.

I berate myself internally and back off, slapping my thigh with the bumping-failure hand and clearing my throat. “Yeah, well, this is apparently going to be a _thing_ between us, so we’re going to have to set some ground rules on working together,” I offer like my heart isn’t still stupidly racing. Like I'm not watching his lips and thinking of them on mine.

One set of intense eyes, now across a ten foot span of churned up snow, flashes at me, and I feel the weight of his attention settle over me again, like a wave of heat rising from an oven.

 

_My god of granola, he is one intimidating fucker._

 

“Ground rules?” he finally asks, standing as upright and ridged as a statue. It's unnatural. I'm shifting from foot to foot like I have a turd stuck.

 _Mmmmmmm. Ridged..._ "Right," I reply, voice hitching a little.

“And what would these 'rules' be?”

Of course he would want to know. I would too, in his place. _Why do I keep throwing these things out there without any planning?_ “Uhhh… Could I get back to you on that?” I'm unprepared and out of my element as usual. Which means, this needs some real time and careful thought.

“You mean, you do not know.” He doesn't sound surprised.

 

_Neither am I._

 

I take a few minutes to think... … … … “Don't actually kill me?”

There's a bare hint of a smile. “You are not very good at this.” The awkward tension fades as our gazes hold for a moment longer.

“I'll add it to the growing list of my underwhelming accomplishments.”

I'm proud of myself. I'm looking at him while ignoring the still semi-erect turgid tower I'm sporting ( _how is that even possible?_ ), and we're talking reasonably, and it's working. Everytime my eyes try and hyper-focus on any body or facial part, I quickly move them to another spot. Same thing with my brain. The second that I start thinking about something juicy and lovely that's going to sabotage my coherency I jump to something else. It makes my thoughts pretty disjointed, but it's working.

 

_Yep, I'm pretty freaking proud._

_And my thoughts are usually disjointed anyway, so win win._

 

And he looks amused like he knows exactly what I'm doing. “Since you have no actual parameters, I suggest that we move past this and continue on as we have.”

My heart thumps painfully and I break out in a cold sweat. “Do we have to… completely... move past this? Like alllll the way?”

The quirked eyebrow he gives me states clearly that I should have kept that bit to myself. “I believe it would be best.”

“You really want to go back to distant, broody Solas?”

“Distant, broody Solas?” He asks. I look at him suspiciously. As usual, his face is blank, but his tone is too casual.

“Yeah, he's kind of a party pooper. Always butting in just when things are getting good.”

He mouths the word 'pooper' and it's so absurdly awesome that I giggle. The corners of his lips twitch.

“It’s not funny,” I say, clutching my side as more giggles burst forth. “Sorry!” And the laughter takes over until I'm out of breath and gasping for air, a little lightheaded.

 

_Why does everything in me vibrate to whatever frequency he puts out?_

 

He's closer to me than I remember, not that I mind, but he's inadvertently blocking the way to the shop I started this craptastic day's adventure to check out. He's standing in front of the entrance like a barricade, as though every part of his body wants me to stay, even if his mind doesn’t know it. He looks through me, like he can see right through the boring brown of my clothes.

I feel self-conscious, fiddling like a little kid again. “I… um… I have to go.” As much as I hate it, it's true.

 

_I'd rather run my fingers down the back of his hand, hug him again, do anything that would connect us as more than two people loitering outside an apothecary, each haunted by our own ghosts._

 

He nods distractedly and sidesteps. “Of course, I apologize, I was a million worlds away. I wish you luck in your endeavors, but I would caution you to be mindful, Adan is not known for his patience.”

“How did you know where I was headed?”

“Because stocking up on potions before a long journey is a good decision. I approve.” His face is very serious.

 

_Solas slightly approves? Greatly approves?_

_Damn it! How am I supposed to know if I've made up for the sexy snow tussle and all my weirdness without the floating, pop up dialogue?_

 

“So… um... Would you say that you only kinda approve a little bit, or is it more of a I bow in awe at the wisdom of that decision?”

To say that he looks at me strangely is an understatement.

I sidle by him, careful not to touch him accidentally, keeping my head down and avoiding his penetrating gaze. Times like these, when he’s closed back down, I have to convince myself he was smiling moments before.

In a move that totally shocks me, he steps up to me and grabs my arm as I walk past him. The sudden contact makes heat flare inside of me. “Although it does not excuse my behavior in the slightest, I do not regret any moment that we have shared.”

Whoa nelly.

He went from being unreadable to a being wide open bodice-ripper book in the middle of a steamy scene. Before I can even attempt to form a response, he relinquishes his hold and steps back, walking away without a backward glance. 

 

_Good goddamn gracious._

 

All my innards have just flipped over and started writing 'Mrs. Hot Hobo' in their diary over and over, with hearts and elaborate curlies. I have to remind each one of them that we’re supposed to be friends. Just friends. Only friends.

But...

 

_His words are better than seat heaters on a cold ass day._

_Better than gooey pizza after a week of salads._

_Better than that huge pile of bacon they have lying on a tray behind the kitchen door at IHOP._

_Better than all you can eat sushi with extra of the yummy orange sauce on the side._

_Better than cherry cobbler fresh out of the oven with homemade vanilla ice cream melting over it in creamy rivers of awesome._

_Better than… Damn I'm hungry._

 

I bark at my protesting stomach to be quiet so my wings have room to sprout from my shoulders, and I float the rest of the way to the door. His words on repeat. He doesn't regret a single moment...

“Wait! Do you… want to come with me?” Borrowing my wings, the question flies out of my mouth before I can stop it. Not the I actually try.

He was halfway to his cottage, but turns back to me, surprised and pleased to be invited. “I appreciate the offer, but I also have tasks to complete before we leave for the Hinderlands.”

“Oh. Okay. Then, I guess I'll see you later?”

“Of course, I look forward to it,” he says in a friendly fashion and it sounds genuine.

I'm so happy my bubble doesn't even burst when I run into the door instead of opening it easily, like even a toddler could do. Instead, I just pat it lovingly, stopping only to fish out the splinter from my palm with a smile.

I turn around and rest my head on the doorjamb with a contented sigh, catching Solas watching the whole exchange and biting his lip while his shoulders shake with a cute little jiggle.

Taking a minute to wave a fond farewell at him, I reach for the doorknob with my other hand. The minute of waving becomes at lot longer than intended as my questing fingers only grasp at open air. Repeatedly. 

He's back at my side, but doesn't say a word. He just shakes his head, lower lip still firmly caught in his teeth, and opens the door for me.

“See? You’re a nice one too,” I tell him, patting him on his chest. His beautifully, awesome chest. I might rub it a little, too. _What? I can’t help it._ He actually has to pry my hand off of him to get me to stop.

Whoops.

With a gentle push, I'm inside, and the door closes quietly behind me.

I sag against it with a dreamy grin. 

 

_What a fabulous day! Thedas is the best!_

_Look out fun, here I come!_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How'd ya like a little more face time with Solas? Was it awesome? I hope so! 
> 
> I can't wait to hear what y'all think <3


	35. Going Through the Motions (of Potions)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello Ballers!!!
> 
> Let's celebrate this Sunday and make it a Funday!!
> 
> And also...
> 
> Go salivate over the artwork from a lovely elite member of the Baller family (thank you - TheGrumpyWraithDemon). You won't regret taking the time (I sure didn't) <3
> 
> http://florentinepatches.tumblr.com/post/177672798377/tarot-card
> 
> http://florentinepatches.tumblr.com/post/177672962277/inalanehnymesilde-nsfw-under-the

 

I stare at the stubble of closely cropped hair, mesmerized, half-wishing I could offer to shave it for him. My fingers are flexing with small spasming jerks and damn near itching with a poison ivy-ish urge. It's been minutes and I haven't said a single word. A mute with a fascination for that heavily speckled coating that looks exactly like someone smeared his head over-exuberantly with wet coffee grounds.

If only that were true...

If that was really the case, I'd much rather lick it than cut it. I'd be slobbering all over him in a heartbeat, like the occasional creepy fucker that I am.

 

_Yes, I love coffee that much._

_We're besties. Practically engaged._

_And maybe, just maybe the smoothly bald look has grown on me more lately. A lot like a fungus. Another flipping fungus, like tendrils of mental ringworm._

 

Adan doesn't seem to mind, or even really notice. He's too busy bustling from one corner of the postage stamp-sized room to the other. Doing what, I'm not exactly sure, but he's succeeding whatever it is he's trying to accomplish with an impressive, single-minded focus.

 

_Organizing? Mixing stuff? Growling in frustration and frowning? Setting wide-bottomed, beaker things down with a thump and rifling impatiently through book? Pushing everything aside with a sound of disgust and an even firmer thump? Running a hand back and forth over his head and bringing my attention firmly back to contemplating coffee ground loveliness?_

 

When I start to feel the saliva pooling on my tongue, I tear my eyes away and make myself fake interest in the rest of the room.

There's so much stuff crammed into a cottage the exact same size as mine. It's almost a perfect replica, but there are too many tables, too many apparatuses, too many _things_. It makes me a little claustrophobic.

My eyes follow him back and forth as I wedge myself into the tiniest, most out of the way spot I can find. I lean against the wall and quietly observe his frantic hustle.

 

_Everyone here has a role to play, a significant job to do. And they all seem to really put their full energy into it. I'm used to a world where competence and heartfelt effort is rare enough to make a real impact, long after the occurrence. A world where apathy and time-killing apps on smartphones prevail over actual conversation._

_It's wierd and quite humbling._

 

And just like that, the loose strands of my delicate self-confidence begin to fuse together, and I stand a little taller.

 

_You know what, I can do this. I can put just as much effort into my role here as everyone else does. I can take a step back from seducing hobos and focus on getting this world straightened out. After all, I'm the only one with the fungus hand to it._

_I swear, I think I have an obsession with the Phylum Fungi. I should probably get that checked out._

 

Speaking of stepping and checking, I've been trying really hard to stay out of his hurried path. My determination seems to be a wasted effort because such a spot in a room this small and crammed with this much stuff, doesn't exist.

Finally, I give up dodging out of his way. “Excuse me, Adan?”

He doesn't even look up from his labors. “Yeah, yeah.” He waves me off with a distracted flutter of his fingers. “Tell Flissa they'll be fine, just make sure to boil the ingredients first. None should get sick.”

I clear my throat, spinning around him quickly and ducking to the side, in another dodging dance. “I don't think I'm the person you're looking for.”

At that he glances up for the first time, taking me in from the feet up. “Oh. It's you. ”

“Yes, it's me,” I say with a polite smile. _Poor man. He must have left his enthusiasm panties at home today._

He turns to face me fully, crossing his reasonably beefy arms over his chest. “I'd introduce myself, but it seems as though I don't need to. I honestly didn't think you'd remember me patching you up after you staggered out of Maker-knows-where. You were pretty incoherent at the time. I have told them _repeatedly_ that I'm not a healer I'm a alchemist, but they dragged you here anyway. Patching up around this place is a waste of my time and talents–”

“You did a wonderful job, thank you!” I interrupt what was evolving into a grumbling rant. “I'm sure I would have been in much worse shape without your expert help!”

He eyes me suspiciously, searching for hidden sarcasm. I beam him a grateful grin and he relents. “Well, there are few around who can help and someone had to do it, so you're welcome.” The words are begrudging and lukewarm. Kind of like a disgruntled cappuccino that's been sitting out and ignored for an hour.

 

_Damn. Have I mentioned I'd REALLY love some coffee?_

 

“I would have been by sooner to show my appreciation, but I've had a tough few days. They've been keeping me pretty busy with Herald stuff, but I'd love to help you out if you can come up with a way for me to do so.”

He seems taken aback by my offer and tilts his head appraisingly, pulling at his long mustache and stroking his bushy goatee. “There's no shortage of work in this place, that's for damn sure, keeping everyone patched up and supplied with potions. Not that Seeker Pentaghast seems to care whether we've got the supplies to actually do that.”

“I'd really like to help relieve your burden. I mean it.”

Nodding, he thinks silently for a minute. “I'm fine as far as raw labor goes, nothing I can't handle, but Master Tagen's notes would be useful. He died at the Conclave and his notes weren't here. I've been too busy dealing with the wounded too look after them.”

I latch onto my first official quest like a kid with one of those head-sized rainbow lollipops. “Perfect! I'll get right on it.” After asking a few more pointed questions about where exactly to go and what exactly I'm looking for, I'm headed out the door and on my way.

Passing by Solas' cottage, I hault momentarily, seriously tempted to peek inside the window just to get another glimpse of him. You know, to tide me over. I resist only by the skin of my teeth, forcing my feet to continue their onward path.

 

_I can't afford to get get distracted again. I've already wasted enough of my limited time, and I don't have very much left._

_Only one more full day to go after this one. I have guard duty with Jim tonight and my first magic lesson with Solas tomorrow. Plus I really need to find the time to visit the blacksmith and get properly suited up._

 

So many things to do. I'm surprised that I don't feel more stressed out about it. There's a spring in my step and I take a deep breath of fresh mountain air, throwing my arms wide and smiling at the sky.

He doesn't regret a single moment...

 

_So maybe I flubbed up a bit in my enthusiasm. Maybe I was sloppy and 'obviously inexperienced'. Maybe he's ashamed at how easily I break through his control top geezer pantyhose. Maybe he's more comfortable being friends for awhile first. I'm alright with that, I can work with that. His honest admission is frankly more than I ever hoped for this early on._

_I'm good. I feel pretty great actually..._

 

My happy cloud practically sparkles in magical puffs all around me and doesn't dissipate while I stroll right down the center of Haven, greeting every single person I see as merrily as Santa with a sack full of toys.

It’s like a high school reunion where you vaguely recognize everyone but you have no idea what the hell to talk about, so I just continue my brisk, forward momentum. I shake hands in a very mayor-ish fashion, patting the heads of children as I pass by. I think I even kiss a baby or two.

The overall reaction to my presence is positive. There might be a few wide eyes and startled expressions, but I do enough winking and flirty smiling that I could pass for a seizure survivor, and my face starts to hurt with all the happy.

Passing by the billboard, I notice with an extra smirk that my picture notice has been taken down. It was probably Solas.

 

_He sure likes to take my stuff, that cutie._

 

Soon enough, I'm out of the gates and at the training grounds. Skirting around the uniformed men and clashing swords, I pause for a moment and observe their formations with wide-eyed interest.

A familiar voice from not too far behind me, “You there! There’s a shield in your hand. Block with it. If this man were your enemy, you’d be dead.” A displeased Commander stalks over to the recruit in question and gestures impatiently for the offending shield. The poor guy hands it over instantly, sufficiently cowed, before hopping back like a terrified bunny. Not even bothering to remove The Feathered Frock of Fabulous, Cullen adjusts the shield on his forearm and orders the recruits partner to attack.

 

_Huh. That's interesting..._

 

I'm startled and fascinated by the hands on approach, and settle comfortably cross legged on a nearby crate to watch for a few minutes. In the game, Cullen just shouts orders over the edge of a medieval clipboard while he signs his name to whatever stack of papers he's scanning and sorting through. It's pretty darn neat to observe him being an active participant rather than just a paper pusher.

I'm impressed and a little proud of the partner dude as he launches right into a flurry of motion without hesitation. He appears to be striving for excellence and trying to floor us all with his cool moves.

Brave guy. But maybe a bit stupid.

Cullen doesn't dosn't do anything showy, just turns aside every lunge and attack with quick, precise movements. All the while, patently explaining to Bashful Bunny in an on-going dialogue, the when's and why's of his tactics.

Brave Guy kicks it up a notch, trying even harder to breach the commander's defense, his face turning red from exertion. I'm not certain why he's bothering. Cullen is obviously holding back, something that's glaringly apparent when he suddenly steps forward, using his shoulder and shield simultaneously to disarm B.G. and knock him on his ass.

 

_Now **that** was a cool move._

 

Handing the shield back to Bunny, he offers his hand to the prone soldier and pulls him to his feet. Slapping him on the back with further words of encouragement. Moving away from the pair, he oversees them reestablish their earlier attempts at fighting and calls over to another stern looking man. “Lieutenant, don’t hold back. The recruits must prepare for a real fight, not a practice one.”

“Yes, Commander.” The man salutes with a snap of his boots, turning on his heel and getting lost in the middle of clattering steel.

Cullen continues working in a circuit around his men while I watch in silent awe. He's too busy glancing over their shoulders with helpful advise to notice, dipping in to help where needed, praising them when they're successful, and barking instructions whenever necessary. I love his voice this way, deep and commanding and without any kind of fluster. He's perfectly calm, but he's in absolute control.

It's a great balance.

I'm more than a little envious of his professionalism. Although I can't deny enjoying being the occasional cause of his awkward fluster…

“So what did you think?” He nudges me with his elbow when he finds his way over to me, gesturing towards the obviously varying degrees of expertise in the multitudes of sword and shield clashing pairs.

What do I think?

 

_I think Cullen dyes his hair with gold dust. Okay, maybe not really, but it certainly appears that way, especially in the sun. It's that damn shiny._

_I think it's much more exciting to be a spectator than to be the one getting one-on-one Cullen intensive training. Definitely safer for all my body parts. Most of which I'm starting to become very attached to. Not Donger, never Him._

_I think Sir Poofs-a-lot should have shed the Cape of Wonders before engaging in the impromptu lesson. Doesn't it get heavy? Doesn't he worry about molting a trail behind him, like Hansel with his breadcrumbs? Yes, he should always leave the Feathered Frock of Flamboyance in his tent. Maybe retire it permanently. Put it out to pasture, so that avians of the world can make the journey and gaze at it in morbid fascination like we do with mummified humans._

 

Cullen shifts in place, looking at me expectantly. That's when I realize that I've been quiet in the face of his question too long.

Well, crap.

 

_What **did**  I think? About what? About our army's capabilities? I don't believe I'm very qualified to judge. About his casual showing of prowess?_

_It was hot._

_Of course it was hot. I could sit here all day battling a numb ass and just watch him. Ahem. I mean, watch **them** to glean pointers for my own future fighting engagements._

 

I nix that flirty observation fast, burying it deep. I can't say that. Instead, I should settle for something less… uh… revealing.

He shifts again still waiting for an answer, this time with more than a little impatience, glancing off to the side in discomfort, as if searching for something that needs his immediate attention. A way to extract himself with a valid excuse, as if regretting speaking to me In the first place.

 

_I need to say something. Fast. Maybe something about the formations? Adding weapon variety?_

 

“It was hot.” Wait. Fuck.

 

_God. Bless. Texas._

_Brain, you were supposed to 'nix' the comment, not say the comment!_

 

His eyes are back to me, twinkling with humor, making my cheeks warm. “We’ve received a number of recruits – locals from Haven and some pilgrims. None have made quite the entrance that you did.”

“Well, you know me…” I trail off with a dismissive shrug.

“Actually, no I really don't. Besides your tendency to wander around at all hours of the night, I know very little about you.”

“What? I don't have a 'tendency' to do that.” _Do I?_ I hadn't really thought of it before as a predictable pattern.

He pins me down with a pointed stare. “Yes, Herald, you do.”

It's hard to argue when he sounds so firm about it. “Okay, maybe I like to explore a bit when I'm alone.”

“Maybe you should be a more discerning about where exactly you _explore_ late at night, in the future.” There's a whole lot of warning stuffed into that sentence.

My heart stops.

 

_Is he?_

_No, it's just my imagination. He's not insinuating anything. He hasn't said anything before now and he's certainly had the opportunity._

_I was under the impression that we kind of just brushed that awful and exhilarating bit of eavesdropping under the rug. I thought we were pretending that nothing happened?_

_That can't be what he's talking about, right?_

 

I stare at him with narrowed eyes, trying to decipher his meaning, but he back to looking off to the side. I decide to play it innocent.

“It's cool, no worries. You don't need to be concerned, safety hasn't been an issue. If you don't count the altercation with that Holden jackass, I've been left alone and relatively unmolested.” I shrink down to the size of a mosquito, horrified at my own phrasing. It's as if there's a flashing, neon sign with an arrow pointing directly at the 'M' part of _that_ word.

 

_Like a horny teenage boyfriend accidentally uttering the word 'masturbation' in front of your ultra conservative grandma._

_Why did I have to say it like that?_

 

He looks down at me with eyes the color of burnt honey. He opens his mouth, but I cut in fast.

“Where is the Jackhole anyway?” I look around us, my gaze zoning in on the clusters of fighting guys with renewed interest.

He ignores my question like I didn't even ask it, continuing with another more blatant warning to be careful about the locations of my nighttime walks.

“I mean, I haven't seen him shoveling shit or anything today…” It's like we're having two different conversations at the same time. I ignore his warning like he hasn't said it twice, continuing grasping at straws to lead Cullen's attention elsewhere. There's no way that he knows it was me outside his tent that night. 

“I know it was you.”

And. There. It. Is.

 

 _Nononononono. We're not talking about this. Not now._ _Hopefully not ever Ever EVER!_

_Why did I stop to watch the training anyway?_

 

My tendency to melt around military guys was what originally stopped my feet. My surprise at Cullen's deviation from his traditional cutscene actions is what kept me here longer than I should've been. Now, nothing seems like a good enough reason in the wake of his revelation.

I draw my legs up tight to my chest defensively, hugging my knees.

“Did you come up with a better punishment? I mean, the latrine job was pretty creative, but I thought maybe he needed something harsher. I'm sorta stumped about what, but we kinda need to make an example of him too, ya know? We don't want any rumors circulating that the Inquisition tolerates that kind of behavior. I've been talking to Tiny, and she said that what happened really isn't that uncommon, and we should probably sit down and go over stuff so that maybe things like that won't happen in the future. Maybe we could interview some of the other ladies and see what can be done about–” I take a deep gasping breath, finally running out of air. I'm seriously considering just hopping down off my crate and hightailing it out of here.

“Herald–” he cuts in just as I'm about to unleash another torrential flood of verbal diarrhea.

I talk right over him. “You know, now that I think about it, I'm surprised that he was just allowed to walk around unguarded. I realize that he didn't actually _do_ anything to her, but there were some serious threats and I'm convinced that if I hadn't been there, he would have hurt her. A man like that shouldn't even be here. A man like that shouldn't have the _privilege_  of fighting for us. I can't trust him, and you shouldn't either. You should–”

“Kick him out?”

I nod emphatically, pleased that I've successfully changed the subject with pure force of will and tenacity.

“That's been taken care of. Private Holden has already been relieved of duty.”

“Oh.” The wind has been stolen from my soap box sails.

“Any other unnecessary advice you'd like to share about disciplining _my men_?”

Oh my. He sounds aggravated by my audacity. Or maybe my avoidance? “I'm sorry.” My voice sounds very small.

 

_For both. I'm sorry for both. Really, really sorry._

_Overstepping bounds seems to come naturally to me. I wish that other, more useful things did._

 

He takes a breath and runs his fingers through that shiny head of hair, ruffling it in an uncaring way that makes it extra sexy. I pull my attention away from his fingers with a gulp, and he looks back at me with concern.

 

_Was it really that loud of a swallow?_

 

“You don't need to be sorry,” he finally says, shifting his weight and dropping his hand to his pommel, firm enough to change the angle of the sheathed sword.

 

_About which thing?_

 

I can't ask without admitting my guilt. Even though he pretty well clearly stated his overall awareness of my questionable conduct.

“So… You and me, we're good then?” I sound really unsure.

“I guess so...” He looks and sounds equally unsure. I have a feeling that this isn't how he planned on this conversation going.

 

_Join the club Commander, the line forms behind me._

 

The tiny troublemaker that dwells just under my skin, perks up at his adorable confusion. Using this unsteadiness to my advantage, I climb down from the crate. Channeling my inner fastidious hobo, I straighten the sleeves of my ugly ass shirt and ready myself. For better or worse, I already know what I'm going to do.

Giving him a dramatic wink first, I rifle through my inner Santa bag of mostly-irresistible charm. Imitating his 'sexy fingers through the hair' man-stance, I tilt my head and blink up at him flirtatiously. “I'll be more quiet next time,” I whisper conspiratorially, batting my lashes extra hard. 

“That's not what I–” The slack-jawed Adonis looks even more confused.

Before I can think better of it or stop myself from being impulsive and stupid, I go for the best over-the-top move that comes to mind. I reach underneath the cape of feathers and pinch his butt. I think he jumps about a foot in the air and I take off running, flying over packed snow faster than I ever have before.

“ **Lu-ci-fer**!”

I hear a furious bellow from behind me, but I don't even try glancing over my shoulder. I just keep my head down and increase my pace as much as I dare, hoping that his never-ending duties will interfere with chasing me down.

 

_Lord, I'm a moron. Wasn't I supposed to be avoiding admitting guilt, not setting up a second date?_

_**Date?**  I think I'm becoming delusional._

_But damn… that skin was so taut against his muscular ass that I barely could get a grip._

 

Once I make it to the treeline, I slow my pace. I look around to get my bearings as I pause to catch my breath.

I feel happy, light, and a little bit faint.

 

_Such a moron._

 

My smile feels ridiculous. I feel ridiculous. But only the trees are there as witnesses, and they're not likely to judge. I'm giddy. Positive. The feeling not fading even as get further and further away from civilization. I walk in relaxed silence for awhile, enjoying peaceful calm of lightly swaying branches, giving anything that looks likely to trip me a wide berth.

I've never been one for nature appreciation or hiking as a voluntary recreational activity. I've always questioned the sanity of folks who talked of camping out in the wilderness for fun. _What the hell is there to **do** out here?_ But I guess I can see the draw of distancing yourself from the hustle and bustle of adulting responsibilities.

The air smells incredible. Clean and fresh, frosty with a hint of snow. Trees that look similar to pine, thicken around the path I'm following, their canopy providing coverage from the late afternoon sunlight. Only a light dusting of snow crunches under my feet. For a moment, I'm transported to another magical world away from the noise of gossiping townspeople and confrontational companions, surrounded by nature’s peace, and I relax despite myself.

 

_I could really grow to love this place. It feels so… right._

_Natural._

 

From the shadows, there's a wierd chittering sound that rises up to my right. I freeze in place, my head whipping around to figure out what made the noise. I don't see anything.

 

_And that's why I don't do this._

_THINGS live out here in nature. Creatures I'm certain that I don't want to meet face to face._

 

I shudder and start walking again, this time faster, trying to keep my instincts in check. Every muscle in my body vibrating with alarm. My shoulders are tight, my eyes focused straight ahead with determination. I walk with a mission, faster even than those exercising old ladies making circuits around the mall before it opens.

I'd leave those hot-yoga attending grannies in my manly, panicked wake.

 

_Five minutes, and I’ll be at the cabin. Ten at most._

_I can do this._

 

My heart thuds with anxiety, but I carry on, outpacing those imaginary wrinkled competitors quickly.

The minutes fly by. When I catch a glimpse of the log cabin off in the distance, I brake my resolution to keep chill about some random sound in the forest, and run like mad for the door. I slam it shut behind me and make a beeline for a pile of furs heaped in the corner, plopping myself down and burying my head in my hands.

I'm not cut out for this.

Introduction task number one and I'm almost crying like a baby...

 

_Maybe I should have tracked down Cassandra to come with me. Both Varric and Solas had other things to do, but I bet she would have made time for me._

_But, damn it! I should be able to accomplish a single, simple fetch and carry quest without falling to pieces!_

_This is stupid. It was just a teenie tiny sound. Probably nothing even scary or big. Probably an especially vocal squirrel saying hello._

 

Fluffing the furs together in a tighter pile, I settle more snugly into a comfortable position. I feel exhausted and uncertain, the warmth of the furry nest an inviting escape.

 

_I'll just rest for a moment, and grab those dumb notes on my way out..._

_…..…………_

...............

I startle awake, my head slipping off my wet, open palm. My eyes dart around at the growing shadows in confusion. Thoughts clicking together in my brain like a horror-filled jigsaw puzzle.

I fell asleep.

**I fucking fell asleep.**

This is not good. This is  _not_ good.

With a bonfire lit under my ass, I jump to my feet and over to the desk overflowing with papers. Squinting and blinking to make out the cramped writing scrawled across them. I shift through the stack impatiently, balling up the rejects and tossing them over my shoulder until I find what I think I'm looking for about mid-way through. Folding the papers in a hurried square, I stuff them down the front of my pants, wishing for the hundredth time that my pants had goddamn pockets.

I eye the dim light outside with trepidation, then I take another look at the closed door and quiet cabin.

 

_Actually, it's a pretty nice place. A little cleaning and organizing would be ideal, but the isolation is appealing._

_If I wasn't **absolutely certain** that something big and terrifying would eat me at some point, I'd move out here and embrace my inner hermit._

 

I leave the hidden hut with a sigh of regret, my feet dragging.

 

_I could just stay out here... Maybe if I hid here they'd forget I'd exist and all leave without me?_

_Right... Because it's not like Mother Superior specifically requested my presence or anything..._

 

Okay, **now**  I'm leaving the hut.

 

_It must be early evening by now. Why hasn't anyone come looking for me? Did they not notice I was gone?_

 

Things look different at night, more ominous.

I repress a shiver as my eyes become accustomed to the lack of light. I've always snickered at the phrase 'looming darkness', having never been particularly afraid of it since I was a child. You grow up and suddenly the monsters of imagination no longer have a hold on you.

I'm not laughing now.

The earlier breeze has died down, but the chill in the air remains in this perpetuity frozen part of the world. I start off through the pine woods, the ground sloping gently, the terrain remaining almost flat with fresh snow fanning across the path, almost camouflaging the way.

I should have prepared more for this adventure, I realize that now.

The day had dawned bright and cloudless, and the sunshine had helped me pick my way through the thickets and brambles. As I snap twigs and crunch pine cones under my boots, I regret not locating a torch to bring with me. The thought had never once occurred to me. Of course, irresponsibly failing sleep in the middle of a task hadn't occurred to me either. 

Roughly an hour of tramping later and I'm really getting concerned. Especially when I come to a wide stream, its surface skuggish with mostly-formed ice in some areas and gurgling over rock in others.

 

_There's not supposed to be a river._

 

“Fuck!” I rub my forehead with two fingers and clench my eyes shut, a pit of dread growing in my stomach.

 

_Don't freak out. Don't freak out. Don't freak out._

_I probably just wandered a little off the path somehow._

 

A twig snaps nearby, like the crack of a broken femur.

I whirl lightning fast and peer through the trees, searching for movement. After staring for a solid thirty seconds, I slump against a tree trunk, hiding and continuing to scan back and forth, the heavy snow-laden limbs hanging low enough to form a curtain around me. It gives me the illusion of security.

 

_I should have just swallowed my pride and stayed in the freaking cabin until someone eventually came to find me._

_Whatever animal was out there likely caught my scent and fled. This is fine. I'm going to be okay._

 

Another snap, a little closer this time, has me splashing through the stream without second hesitation. I'm less concerned with the idea of being turned around, and more concerned with getting away. The crossing goes smoothly, my boots keeping my feet warm and dry despite the frigid water swirling around them.

Once I gain the opposite bank, I continued my trudge, watching out for familiar territory, checking behind me every so often to make sure I'm not being followed by a nightmarish beast. Occasionally, I think I hear some sounds in the woods, more twigs cracking or the crunch of dead leaves. But whenever I stop, the only sound is that of my breathing. The woods remain silent around me, no summertime cicadas singing in the trees and no frogs serenading from the riverbank.

It's disturbing.

 

_Wasn't I just relishing that quiet earlier?_

 

After another hour of hopping smaller, frozen streams and picking my way through the undergrowth, I'm ready to admit that I'm completely and totally lost. A bitter wind kicks up in the darkness, licking through my hair with icy fingers. The promise of a long, cold night ahead makes the decision almost easy for me.

 

_But how do I intentionally signal a SOS to Solas through feelings alone?_

_We really need to work out this communication thing._

 

My mind distracted on working out various scenarios, I continue moving and trekking through the taciturn landscape. Even with my elfy immunity, I'm worried that I might still get frostbite from prolonged exposure to these temperatures.

I try and plan as I walk.

 

_What would be the best combination of emotions to express 'get off your delectable ass and come save me'. Honestly, I have no fucking clue._

 

Only a few minutes or so have passed when I hear a bloodcurdling scream tear through the trees. Stumbling across a set of tangled roots, I press my palm against the closest tree trunk to steady myself.

It happens again and the sound shreds me.

It's not exactly the scream I first registered it to be. More a high-pitched noise of unfathomable violence and pain. It sounds once more after the beginning two peals, only to be silenced halfway through.

My heart sinks.

 

_No!_

 

The moons have risen high and bright, shining their twin crescent lights down through the trees and glinting off the small creeks and streams I recross. Each hurried step faster than the last, until I'm flying on feet that blur underneath me, chasing the echoes of those haunting sounds that have chilled my blood. I'm determined to rescue whomever or whatever needs saving.

I refuse to believe that it might be too late.

 

_Hold on! I'm coming!_

 

Jumping over another small stream, I hear a huff, like a hard exhale, ahead of me. The hackles on the back of my neck rise as my heart kicks into high gear. I skid to a hault and search the darkness.

Seeing nothing, I take another step, and the sharp exhale sounds again. Slowly I crouch and pick up a fallen tree branch about as long as my forearm, holding it out in front of me.

 

_Important note to self:_

  * _Never. Leave. Without. A. Weapon. Ever. Again._



 

Dead leaves crunch ahead and to the left. The noise growing closer as I hold my ground, sweat breaking out on my forehead. My makeshift club wavering in my grip as my hands start to shake uncontrollably. More twigs snap. A flicker of a shadow darts through the trees, small and scampering. I track the movement until I lose it.

Another glimpse and its headed right for me.

I crouch on instinct, bending my knees and getting ready to spring forward with smashy smackdown. The shadow moves quickly, and I hold my breath as it approaches. A tiny pinky peach colored ball with stubby little legs dashes past me, right through my legs and straight for the small stream at my back.

Clutching my chest with a sigh of relief, I drop my arm to my side and stand up straight. “You scared the shit out of me little guy,” I admonish the little creature lightly. He's too adorable to be mad at, with his itty bitty curly tail flicking and wagging.

I lean my unnecessary club against a nearby tree and watch him happily ignoring me while slurping at the stream. Moonlight shines down on his unevenly floppy, hairless rabbit-like ears. In fact, his whole tiny body is hairless. It isn't until I get closer, that I notice him shivering.

 

_Is he cold?_

 

He's so small that I could scoop him up easily with one hand. So I do. He doesn't even fight me when I snuggle him against my chest, he just snuffles at my face with his wiggling nostrils and looks at me with beautifully innocent eyes.

 

_Who knew that baby nugs could be so damn cute?_

 

“Why are you out here all alone little man?” My breath puffs in front of my face as I wait for a reply to a question I know can't be answered. “Well sweetheart, if we're going to be friends, then you're gonna need a name. Something cute but badass, like Scrambles the Deathbringer. How about that?”

He huffs at me through his little nostril slits.

“Ahh. Don't like that one huh?” I pet his silky ears gently as I consider another, better suiting name. 

 

_He's the cutest crossbreed between a piglet and a bunny that I've ever seen. To think that people here actually eat these little guys sickens me. So what if they probably taste exactly like bacon, it's still wrong._

_Ah ha!_

 

I snap my fingers as inspiration hits. It's rather ineffectual since my dominate hand is full of mildly fuzzy adorable.

“I'll call you Kevin!” If the reciprocated snuggles are any sign, he seems to be fond of his new name. He paws at my supporting hand as if trying to borrow even closer. I shift him in my grip, gently turning him over so I can tuck him in tight to my torso like a baby.

That's when I notice the blood.

Everything in my person zeros in on the pads of his soft hooves. My gaze leaping from them to the little trail of footprints in the snow, dotted here and there with the same coordinating color. My heart picks up speed again.

Kevin squeals lightly as if somehow sensing my sudden alarm. Or possibly it's because my careful grip has become a bit too tight. When I realize, I loosen my fingers and he settles back down, but my loving euphoria has evaporated.

Edging back over to my makeshift club, I wrap my free fingers around it and heft it off the ground. Taking a deep, calming breath, I follow those little tracks into the trees. It doesn't take long before a clearing opens ahead of me, the trees thinning out.

 

_I'm getting close to something. I can feel it._

 

I keep scanning those trees for any sign of something other than vegetation. Nothing. But I get a vague sense of déjà vu when I catch a bold slash of red across the base of a trunk. My breath grows short as I hurry toward the spot for a closer inspection. My heart constricts, and I'm drawn to the odd patch of woods like a hunting dog toward its quarry. Somehow, I just know I've seen a similar mark before...

Kevin chooses that moment to be a basket full of puppies wriggling to get free. I set him down with reluctance, and he takes off toward a different tree further into the clearing.

Keeping one eye on the direction he’s gone, I move slowly towards my goal. My attention shifting to Kevin when he starts making a high-pitched keening sound as he circles around and around. I leave the slash behind and investigate what has my new baby friend so upset.

There's nothing particularly different about the trees themselves that I can tell, but something rests at the base of one of them just ahead. Kevin is nuzzling that something while emitting that heartbreaking noise.

As I approach, I realize whatever it was has been covered in branches. Even so, the moon's light glints off what appears to be a large forked hoof sticking partially out from underneath the pile.

 

_Oh my. No._

 

My heart speeds up as I take the final steps forward. Blood pounds in my ears as I rip the barren limbs from the mound. I yank and pull, not caring that the jagged pieces of wood stab at me and scratch my hands. When I finally pull the last branch away, I stand back and take in deep gulps of air.

 

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._

 

Even though part of me had already predicted what I was going to uncover, seeing the evidence of it still hits me like a punch in the gut. I lean my head back and stare up through the skeletal branches decorated with icicles like a morbid Christmas tree, and into the dark sky.

“Oh. No. I'm so sorry, Kevin.” Tears burn in my eyes. I don't know what to do in this situation. _Should I bury her?_ I really can't without any tools, with the ground pretty frozen and all. But I feel like I should do _something_. The broken cries of the baby nug are hurting my heart.

“What happened to you, Love?” Bowing my head respectfully, I address the mauled and unmoving form of what could only be this abandoned nug's mother.

The empty air doesn’t answer. It maintains its silence as I try to piece together what beast caused this much damage. Backing away, I search the ground nearby, looking for any hint of a struggle. I walk in concentric circles, tramping through the leaves and undergrowth as I move farther and farther from the body. Nothing catches my eye, no obvious disturbances or tell-tale depressed ground. No paw prints.

Whatever did this isn’t here, but I doubt it's gone far.

Foreboding darkens my thoughts, and I call out for Kevin, suddenly feeling exposed out here with no cover. Collecting the still-mourning baby, I hurry back the way we came. Feeling safer amongst the trees, though they don’t really offer much protection.

We arrive at the same stream I’d crossed alone earlier. I kneel, gently settling Kevin down beside me and checking out my stinging hands. My palms are scratched and gouged.

 

_Eh. It's only a flesh wound. I've had worse._

 

Leaning over, I quickly submerge them in the clear, cold water until the sting is replaced with a comfortable numbness. Once clean, I pull them out, shake them off, and stuff them under my armpits for warmth. I wish I had bandaging materials with me, but my hands aren’t too bad. Once feeling returns to my fingers, I gather my strength for more wilderness walking, I scoop up Kevin again and push up from my knees.

That's when I hear it again. The sound from earlier.

A huff, like a hard exhale.

 

**Fuck.**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I await your comments and opinions with baited breath. 
> 
> I totally love you all!!!
> 
> Share away <3


	36. For the Love of Kevin Bacon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, my beloved Ballers! Here's my present to you!
> 
> Yes, it's been an eternity and the lingering writer's guilt has been nagging at me every passing week. Ever had chapter that was more challenging to write? Yup. I totally have. I just had a extra tough time writing it, ending it, being satisfied with words that weren't following smoothly from my brain. So, I took a break and worked on other projects. I even posted one called Fairy Tale Hell (I had to before my draft was deleted... hahaha).
> 
> Now it's time for some reading! 
> 
> Fair warning: I'm not in the habit of giving out these, but you might possibly need a tissue for this one. Or maybe you're made from sterner stuff than me.
> 
> We'll just have to wait and see...
> 
> Regardless, I love y'all to ooey gooey pieces <3
> 
>  
> 
> *1/13/19  
> Comma splice correction. Thank you michel_de_chevin_is_married_to_a_nug for your fabulous eyeballs (and for loving nugs and Kevin as much as Lucy and I do).

 

The faint, cool glow of light off the snow makes the shadows that loom in the darkness that much more mockingly vague. Impenetrable. My imagination is going haywire. I see evil everywhere, in every halted footstep, after every tiny breath. A shiver that has nothing to do with the freezing temperature races through my entire body, and the hairs on the nape of my neck snap to attention with military precision. I'm uncomfortably aware of everything around me, my eyes hunting for the danger, my ears painfully alert to each new sound whether big or small.

 

_That looming darkness shit again._

 

Darkness, darkness — everywhere.

I stare and I stare...

But there's nothing there...

 

_Fuck that stupid darkness right in the poop chute._

 

There'd been a huff. I know that I heard it,  _I'm absolutely certain,_ but now all is quiet. Disturbingly quiet. And I'm just wandering around like an idiot as if I'm window shopping at the mall. Even though the urge is strong to keep going, I hang back and spend another thirty seconds making sure nothing is going to jump-scare me from the bushes.  _That sort of thing_ _always happens in the movies._  Finally I'm satisfied. Mostly. Sort of. Enough. After throwing the concealing trees one last glare of hatred, I tuck Kevin in tight to my body in an adorably fuzzy football carry, and hurry the direction opposite from where I last heard that awful sound.

I make it a dozen steps more before that creepy huff happens again, louder this time, and followed by a low grunt.

 

_Of course._

_Of fucking course._

 

Leaves crunch ominously as a _something_ approaches. Steadily now. It's close. Too damn close.

The noises alone tell me I'm dealing with _something_ big. Not as huge as the Behemoth, but a much larger creature than the baby one I'm clutching. Maybe it's not an enemy animal. Maybe it'll be friendly... Is there such a thing as a sweet arctic elephant in Thedas?

 

_What the hell should I do? Stay and hide or start running?_

_If I make a break for it now, will it result in a hostile chase scene? Am I ready for that if it does?_

_Yeah, probably not._

 

I edge to the nearest tree and lean into it, seeking some form of cover. It's barely wider than I am, but I would have to cross into open moonlight to make it to a bigger tree about twenty feet away. My skull smarts when I thump my head back against the bark in frustration. I smooth tense fingers over Kevin's velvety ears in an effort to calm down.

 

_I shouldn't even be in this situation._

_Aren't I technically someone of great importance in this world? Their savior? The notion of me being anyone's salvation is truly ridiculous, I get that, but I'm the only chance they've come up with so far to seal the gaping green deal. And unless this storyline takes a hard left off the rails and straight into the deep end, thousands, maybe millions of lives are depending on the competency of my fungus transportation service._

_If that's the case, then why am I here dealing with this alone? It's been hours. The entirety of the Inquisition army should be mobilized in a grid by grid search. Isn't Cullen aware that his beautiful abs have been decidedly drool free for much too long? Isn't Liliana supposed to be a scary spymaster of some renown? Hasn't Varric or Cassandra come to check and see if I need help packing or anything? And where the hell is Solas?_

_Isn't anyone concerned by my absence?_

 

Creepy noise #36 has me cursing silently and peeking around the side of the trunk with trepidation. And that's when I see The Thing emerge from a nearby thicket.

Oh my... funky skunk spunk.

This is not good.

 

_Stop me if you've heard this one..._

_So a porcupine and a stegosaurus walk into a bar... Introduce themselves flirtatiously, cute head tilts with eyelash flutters, and everything. They have a few drinks, get a little sauced, and decide to fuck the night away in a ménage à trois with their Sonic the Hedgehog lookalike bartender._

_That offspring is what is stalking me._

 

I glance down at the trusting, half-closed eyes of the baby nug in my arms.

 

_Us. That offspring is what is stalking **us**._

 

Ding-a-ling Thing has to weigh at least two hundred pounds. Maybe three, or four, possibly a thousand.

 

_Who the hell knows?_

_I'm guessing, okay. It's not as if I can eyeball estimate with any real accuracy like dude at a carnival sideshow. There's not an industrial scale I can pull out of my ass to take its measurements, and somehow I get the feeling Steg-hog would be bullfighting mad at that offensive suggestion._

 

Lumbering through the undergrowth with heavy grunts, Pokey The Destroyer snorts along the roots of a tree. There's a moment of sagging relief, when the scary looking creature behaves like an innocent herbivore. I think we've lucked out, but the moment doesn't last long. As soon as it raises its mastiff-sized head and begins to moving straight towards our hiding spot, I start panicking again.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Afraid it'll hear me, I hold my breath, and edge around the tree. My footsteps are very slow and very careful, almost exaggerated, similar to a cartoon cat sneaking up on its 'innocent' prey.

 

_I was always on Tom and Sylvester's side. Poor guys. They totally deserved to win at least once!_

 

My flight instincts are ordering me like a vein-popping Drill Instructor at bootcamp _MOVE. MOVE. MOVE!_ I'm trying to keep my steps muffled as I hug the bark and circle around.

Pokey keeps coming. The heavy body swaying side to side as it passes right in front of us with steady, unfaltering steps. I watch silently as it approaches the stream. My lungs burn in sudden protest at the continued lack of air and I take a quiet, calming breath slowly in and out through my nose.

 

_Wow. I'm actually handling this better than I thought._

_Who would have believed that?_

 

With a small burst of self-confidence inappropriately tugging up the corners of my lips, I survey our surroundings like a true survivalist. Scanning every direction for escape routes, I decide on an extra dense thicket that rises up on my left. If I can get us closer to it, it will serve as something of a barrier hedge.

Maybe hide us with better camouflage.

Hopefully.

 

_Fate, don't fail us now. Please._

 

I ease out from behind the tree and choose my steps only after serious consideration. The beast is unaware of my presence, it's too busy leaning its hulking mass forward and taking an extended drink from the stream. The tangled brambles ahead promise safety, and there's only a few more feet left to go before we'll be out of sight. Turning diagonally, I edge backwards towards the woods in order to keep Pokey firmly in my line of sight.

Step by step. And we're safe, with Pokey left behind.

 

_Close call._

 

That’s when I hear another deep snort from behind me.

 

_Note to self:_

  * _It's always behind me. Danger is **always** behind me. Why can I not remember such a simple concept?_
  * _Consider getting that tattooed on my forehead if I manage to make it through this alive._
  * _If I add enough swirls or branches/leaves it'll still appear Dalish._
  * _Because that's terribly important._



 

Whirling, I find a dark blur charging at me. Churned up snow is flying out on either side, like arcs of rainwater under spinning tires on a wet road. Moonlight flows over its prehistoric mass of barreling muscles, a ghostly almost-metallic shine glinting on the spines running down its back like a deadly fan.

The damn thing is huge just like Pokey. The shape of its head and body exactly like—

 

_Holy pits of shit! There are two of them!_

 

I dodge with a dexterity that I didn't know I possessed, darting to the left and further into the trees. There's a cool burst of air that ruffles my hair as the second huge animal careens past and into the thicket I had been shooting for as cover. Not waiting to see how long it'll take for the beast to recover, I break into a sprint, tearing down the slight slope back toward the clearing in the woods.

I don't have a plan. I don't have any ideas.

I'm just running.

Hooves pound the ground behind me, and I know that at least one of the monsters is giving chase. I hope it's just one of them. One, I can handle.

 

_I can, right?_

 

It's difficult to manage the dark forest at such a fast pace. It's almost impossible without breaking my neck. I don’t dare glance around, just focus on maintaining my pumping legs at my hellish speed, and try to avoid roots and branches.

The cold air burns my lungs, and snow-laden limbs slap against my body and face as I crash through the woods. I keep running and running, wrapping both arms tight around Kevin for his safety. I'm hoping and praying the awful Thing 2 will lose interest, maybe turn back like a good freakish beast and have some hydrating time with its best buddy.

 

_Yeah. Right._

 

Instead, the snorts and grunts behind me continue, growing louder and louder until I can hear each one, even over my gasping breaths. Despite my desperate desire to the contrary, my strength starts to wane and my legs begin to slow like I have exercise weights strapped to my ankles.

No. No. No. Not now.

The long day and the cold air is effecting my endurance. And let's be honest, my constitution wasn't that stellar to begin with. Maybe I should have focused on cardio a little more...

No. Not now.

Can't. Stop. Now.

I push through the weakness, mentally shoving energy reserves that don't exist into protesting muscles. Jumping a fallen branch, I stumble as I hit the ground and veer to the right around another bramble thicket. I've lost track of my direction, one cluster of trees looking alarmingly identical to another. I don't exactly know where I'm going any longer, but I have to believe I'm still headed toward that clearing and the mirage of salvation.

I have to believe we're gonna escape this. I have to believe in something, or just give up now. And I haven't survived all the pain and suffering while sporting embarrassingly frequent erections, to do that.

But what will I do when I make it to the clearing? It's definitely a 'when' not an 'if'. Nothing else is acceptable. 

 

_Think. THINK._

 

There! Up ahead. I think I recognize those trees!

Relief bursts through my brain, at the same time a burning pain rips across my calf. _Teeth? Claws?_ My faltering momentum crumbles even further as I overcompensate my stride, jerking away my leg and losing my balance. Stinging erupts along my shoulder, bruising my arms as I fall, tucking and rolling automatically to protect the squealing Kevin from the rocks and debris on the ground.

I'm lost in the dark maze of criss-crossing agony.

My brain is screaming at me to move, but it might as well be communicating in a foreign language for all the response my body gives. For seconds I just stare numbly as putrid breath forms gusting puffs of steam. The beast advances slowly, no longer in any apparent hurry. It saunters, almost arrogantly, as if it knows I'm injured and all it has all the time in the world to finish me off.

It doesn't. Don't count me out yet. I have more fight left somewhere... I just have to locate it... But I'm exhausted.

Then its beady, glassy eyes fall to the squirming peach ball in my lap, and they take on a crazier gleam.

 

**NO!**

 

I yell loudly. Curses ripping from my throat as I bait and taunt its focus back on me. I shove myself to my feet, tucking Kevin protectively to the left side of my chest, ignoring any injuries as if they don't exist. They're not important right now.

The beast lunges and I kick out with my good leg, but my timing is a hair too slow and misses its wide snout. It snorts, snapping rows of jagged teeth as it appraises me with black eyes. This time, I preemptively do the lunging. Around a tree, then around another like a stumbling and chaotic merry-go-round with no real pattern. I'm biding my time, and just as I'm gearing up for my flee-for-all, last ditch sprint, I make one wrong move and claws rake across my already bloodied calf.

 

_God. That hurts._

 

My free fingers form a fist as it tries to latch on again with its teeth, and I manage to connect with surprising impact. I rear back and punch its gnawing skull again as hard as I can, picturing my hand puncturing a hole right through the middle. That doesn't happen, but it makes its own sound of pain and backs away. Limping heavily, I use that brief reprieve to make a break for it.

Fast.

Faster!

With a weird hopping gait, I enter the clearing and catalogue my options. There aren't many and I don't have much time to come up with something. My chest is heaving like a damsel in the middle of a bodice-ripping ravishment, and my heart is pounding out the beat to the 1812 Overture.

The tickle of liquid dripping down my calf is a constant reminder of my leg wound. If I somehow managed to forget about the throbbing puncture holes. Which I haven't, but I wish that I could.

 

_So I'm guessing Kevin and I running off into the sunset together is off the table. Damn. But if we stay here and both of them surrounded us, we're screwed._

 

My eyes helplessly score across the tall trees circling the perimeter. How can they be used? If I could somehow manage the feat of climbing up one, I might be able to wait out the beast's interest until I'm rescued. Maybe tie myself to a sturdy branch like Katniss in The Hunger Games and possibly sleep some to recover more expediently. But I don't think my injured leg is capable of the task.

 

_And even if it were, where would that leave Kevin? If I tucked in my shirt and stuffed him inside, what would happen if I lost my grip? Or if he squirmed out because he didn't understand what was happening? He wouldn't survive the fall, and I wouldn't survive seeing his broken body and knowing that I was the cause._

_Yup. We're pretty much fucked._

 

Being out in the open is now somehow worse than being trapped in the woods. I actually wish this really was a movie and I had an audience of smarties shouting out ideas. I've got nothing.

I have minutes. Seconds, to decide.

Heading for the ravaged corpse of Kevin's mother, I use those precious seconds to settle him near her with quiet soothing sounds. _Stay. Be safe. Be calm._ He squeaks a little in protest as I make the motions to move away and I drop back to my knees. Shushing him quietly, I pet his shivering body and an idea dawns. I pull my shirt up over my head, rip the sleeves off first, and then wrap him up in the cloth still warm from my skin until he's swaddled like a burrito baby. Laying him back down and petting him again gently, I use my other hand to pull the discarded branches back over them both.

It works like a charm. He seems content while I'm reforming the mound and hopefully camouflaging them both from the ravenous beasts sure to arrive any moment. This time when I step away, he doesn't make a sound.

 

_Okay. Okay. Now what?_

 

Using the torn fragments of my sleeves, I bind up my leg to put pressure on the wounds and stop the bleeding. Feeling momentarily proud of my quick thinking, I grab another nearby branch that seems sturdy enough to substitute for a weapon and test it out with a few practice swings. I rake my hair back impatiently and widen my stance. My club is ready and waiting, like a zombie smashing bat. I stand directly in front of my concealed fuzzy friend.

I won't rethink this. I'm committed and I won't back down. 

They'll have to go through me to get to him.

 

_Boy, I wish I had some barb wire to add to the branch/club for a true post-apocalyptic effect and added defense._

_Or a shotgun._

 

I don't have to wait long. Like a constipated turd that refuses to flush, the stego-beast prairie dog's its ugly head out of the treeline. Beady eyes hone in on me in half a second and I take a deep breath.

With a rustle and a huff that reverberates along its body, the beast I marked with my fist emerges into the clearing. At least, I think it's him/her/it. Whichever. I'm ready for action.

 

_Let's get this smackdown started._

 

Then my worst fear comes true. Pointy, the river-slurping beast, emerges from the forest and joins it from my left. My heart picks up its rapid crescendo. Adjusting my grip until I'm strangling the branch, I dare them both with my eyes to get this over with. First one, then the other.

And then a nightmare becomes reality. My heart stuffs its way between my ribs and leaps out of my body when a third hulking mass emerges from the trees at my right.

 

_Holly jolly mother of craptastic cramping craps. This is not going to end well. How am I supposed to fight them all together?_

_Goddamn it._

 

I swear they look even bigger side by side in the wide open space of the clearing. Their snouts are unnaturally stretched, their hairless necks and shoulders thick with added muscle; I can imagine them seizing my waist between their jaws and worrying my spine as a regular hound might do a rabbit. A row of bone spikes has emerged from between their eyes and runs down their spines to the root of their poised, prehensile tails.

 

_Fuck. Me. They didn't have bone spurs before. What, did they evolve in the 7.68 minutes since I was attacked before? What the?_

_Is that even a thing? What is even going on right now?_

_This is bad. Bad because I'm being hunted down by level 20 chaotic evil mini bosses. And I'm what? Level two? How do I judge that kind of thing in real life?_

_Plus there's three of them._

 

Three.

The unfairness of it all forces a harsh, hysterical bark of laughter from my lips. “Come on then, you ugly fuckers. I'm not gonna make this easy on you.”

 

_Yep. I'm a total badass._

 

There's a minute of silence and then, they're on me. A shouted battle cry rips from my lungs as I bring my club down on the side of the broad head nearest to me. There's a crunch and it leaps to the side, shaking off the wound, but is quickly replaced by a different snarling mouth. I catch that one with a backswing, trying to stay moving, but my stupid injured leg is slowing me down. My saving grace is that they seem to be following some kind of pecking order, or maybe they've seen too many kungfu/ninja fights. If they truly all attacked in one cohesive strike I wouldn't have a chance in hell, no matter how determined I might be.

I'm holding my own for a surprisingly lengthy amount of time. Slowly working my way around and leading them away from my hidden companion. But all it takes is a single wrong turn for everything to come crashing down. My weakened leg buckles, and one of the fuckers uses that opportunity to latch on with the clamping action of an evil snapping turtle.

My wordless cry of pain echoes though the night's sky.

Fire races up from my already injured calf like I've been branded with a cattle prod. Yelling nonsensical curse chains all containing the word 'bitch', I fight as pain overwhelms my senses and mixes with my swinging mojo flow. Mixes in same way fried foods and a diseased gallbladder do; very, very badly.

Vomiting in a trash can for two solid hours until your stomach feel like an overused condom kind of bad.

The damn thing somehow manages to avoid the violent brunt of my wildly swinging displeasure, then it yanks hard, almost dragging me from my feet.

Out of the corner of my eye I see movement at the branch mound, and a tiny peach body wiggling out from underneath the protective barrier. My shouting must have alerted him to my precarious position. I wasn't thinking about that, I was just reacting to the situation with single-minded intensity.

 

_Oh nonononono. Kevin! No!_

_It's called self-preservation for a reason!_

 

The plan had been to steadily lure the deadly trio of tenacious turds away, using myself as bait. But the entire thing goes to shit when the baby nug makes a beeline right for us, ears back and head held low and determined as if he's coming to save me.

They'll kill him. Instantly.

Undiluted fear, not for me but for my little nugget, turns venomous in my bloodstream, polluting my bones with a toxin only absolute terror can concoct.

My vision goes red. Beautiful, deadly scarlet.

I welcome it.

Time slows and the world around me snaps into sharp clarity. I scream. Loudly. And it echoes impressively as if belonging to a much larger being than myself. It boils up from the deep depths of my soul and tears out of my lungs like I'm some savage Cro-Magnon protecting my young, fending off a wild predator.

 

_I didn't know I could sound like that. Damn. That's awesome._

_Why is there no one around to hear this?_

 

Almost calmly, I reach down and snatch out the eye of the offensive beast attached to my leg. Plucking and throwing the squishy mess straight at head of a porcu-buddy with the grace of a professional baseball player.

The coordinating splatter makes my blood sing in delight.

The newly christened One-Eye lets go with a howl and collapses on its side when I use my mangled leg in a spinning kick finishing move. I'm pulling out every combination I can remember from my arsenal of Mortal Kombat/Street Fighter/Killer Instinct moves. I keep going and going, an Energizer bunny of destruction and mayhem, landing kick after kick in a never-ending chain attack on each and every enemy within my reach. My club is a whirl in my hand, more often than not meeting against naturally armored flesh with a satisfying smash.

 

> _Let the bodies hit the floor._  
>  _Let the bodies hit the floor._  
>  _Let the bodies hit the floooooooooooor._

 

Like a male, sexy-ass elf version of River Tam, flawlessly beating the hell out of some Reavers.

 

_I really miss Firefly._

 

My leg wound has reopened with all the activity and the trickle is definitely worse. It's much too extensive to actually run, but I make it over to Kevin. Lifting him back to his place, burrowed against my left side, I brandish my club like a samurai sword.

“Leave us the fuck alone. Go!” I shout with authority, puffing up my chest and making myself as big as possible. The Trio appear damaged but not defeated, and my confidence has them pausing and looking at each other. I maintain my brave bravado as I back away. Unfortunately, I gain no real distance because they start approaching again, but slower than before, all three of them noticeably injured now.

I deflate like a ruptured saline implant. Shit.

 

_Why are they so determined? There must be easier prey._

 

Everything shifts slightly with my next step, the world tilting away from me like a funhouse mirror. The ground ripples underneath my feet as if we're on a boat in the middle of a rolling ocean instead of solid frozen dirt. I sway a little in place feeling oddly sick to my stomach with my next step, sweat beading on my forehead. Or maybe it's blood? Hard to tell at the moment.

Suddenly it's almost impossible to even remain upright.

A sense of foreboding makes my insides turn cold.

 

_Or maybe **I'm**  the easy prey after all..._

 

There's nowhere left to go, not that I have any strength left to get there. We're caught tight in a tangled web of spines and teeth, and I don't think we're making it out of this one. I feel my resolve weakening. Tears threaten, washing away the scarlet, my vision fading with swirling bits of grey.

Red-hot sparks giving way to dull slate, like used up charcoal.

Blinking rapidly to bring back focus and with growing dread leaking from every pore, I watch the Trio of Terror sniff the air as they scent my blood. I'm sure there's plenty of it splashed around to smell.

The least-damaged one stalking us on the right, regroups and lunges forward again, seeking out my injured leg like there's a weakness bullseye painted on it in bright red.

 

_Oh. Right. There is._

 

I kick out like I did before, but with less dexterity, and this time it grabs my foot in its mouth and clamps down around my boot. _Too slow_. Balanced precariously on my one free foot, I grit my teeth against the pain and lean forward, swinging at the monstrous black snout. I connect firmly, but the beast doesn’t let go like I predicted it would. Instead, its jaw clamps harder and its teeth puncture my boot, digging into my heel and shaking me so hard I hear a startling pop from my leg socket.

And I'm falling.

Down. Down. Down.

I swallow the screech of pain bubbling from my throat and hit him again as the second beast, emboldened, circles around toward my left directly behind its buddy, grunting and snorting in renewed interest. I try and back him off with a weakened, downward slash but it won't reach. The third Terror Turd is favoring a paw, hanging at an awkward angle, and patiently waiting for the perfect moment.

 

_This is where my story finishes. I'm going to die out here. And it'll serve those Inquisition assholes right for abandoning me._

 

The realization of death doesn’t come like a sucker punch; it comes as a cold finality. Inevitable. It's almost calming to know with certainty that the end is imminent and utterly unavoidable.

I feel the cold air in my lungs, the roaring pain radiating from my leg, the tickle of hoarseness in my throat—everything all at once, my last bits of life.

 

_Kevin… I'm sorry._

_You're my only regret._

 

T2 snorts with agitation as it advances on the Turd with an obvious foot fetish. The foot that's yanked viciously as they start snapping at each other like two children fighting over the same toy. Being stolen and snatched around basketball-style is disturbingly uncomfortable, but the silver lining is that I finally gain my freedom. My foot is free and they're too busy fighting each other to notice.

A silver lining... It’s barely silver... More like really, really, really dark gray. Lining that's streaked with bone white.

Exposed bone… Is that my—

 

_Don't look at it._

 

Third Turd finally grows some balls and joins the fray, challenging the other two for its rightful place at the buffet line. Wanting first dibs, as if the feast is inevitable.

 

_There's that word again. Inevitable._

_Is it?_

_It doesn't have to be._

 

Three spine-riddled monsters bristle, locked in battle with their black, shiny eyes.

The cold earth seeps through the tattered remains of my clothing.

My heart thumps with sluggish beats, as if filled with tar instead of blood.

The acrid tang of urine drowns out the monsters' smell as I lay curled on the ground. Destroyed. Defeated. Dying.

But I'm not dead yet...

 

> _Oh no, not I, I will survive_  
>  _Oh, as long as I know how to love, I know I'll stay alive_  
>  _I've got all my life to live_  
>  _And I've got all my love to give and I'll survive_  
>  _Do you think I'd crumble?_  
>  _Did you think I'd lay down and die?_  
>  _Oh no, not I–_

 

"I will survive…" I murmur into the snow as I reach out and begin dragging myself and Kevin away, hoping the Turds are too busy posturing to see the movement. Hoping I can at least make it to a tree to help me stand. Hoping I'm still able to manage that much at least.

Reach. Pull. Repeat.

Growls and yips, sounds of clashing armored creatures are the motivational notes from my imaginary earbuds.The seconds tick by. Maybe even minutes, I'm unsure. It takes time to pull us along like a parade float that's been battered and treated like an abused piñata at a six year olds birthday party. 

Too much time.

It turns out, I don't have any more seconds left.

They come for me.

One of them launches at me. Springing off thick back legs in such a way that reminds me of a pouncing cat, front feet/paws slamming into me, pushing me. My head smacks against the ground, dizzying me and stalling my retaliation. 

Except I don't have anything left. 

 

_Except..._

 

I instantly curl my mostly unresponsive body in a fetal position, cradling the baby nug against my belly and shielding him with my body. Horrendous PAIN unlike anything I've ever felt before eats away at my sanity, as the winner and most dominate of the three creatures begins ripping small strips of flesh from my back.

It's a slow torture. Nibbling, savoring kind of slow.

But I don't let go.

 

_I will protect my innocent little nugget with every last bit of strength in my body._

 

I block out the disturbing sounds of my impeding end, petting his trembling body with jolting, shaking hands as important nerves are severed with raking claws and teeth. I focus with single-minded intensity to make my numb fingers cooperate.

 

_This is it._

_Focus._

 

With my last wheezing breaths, I whisper a soothing lullaby in his fuzzy, twitching ears.

 

> **Somewhere, over the rainbow, way up high…**
> 
> **There's a land that I heard of once in a lullaby…**

 

Ahhh God, the pain. 

_Don't think about it. Breathe. Just breathe._

 

> **Somewhere, over the rainbow, skies are blue...**
> 
> **And the dreams that you dare to dream, really do come true…**

 

_Dying. Hurts. So. Fucking. Bad._

 

> **Somewhere over the rainbow, bluebirds fly…**
> 
> **Birds fly over the rainbow,**  
>  **Why then, oh why can't I?**

 

My breath catches and my voice cracks with emotion as I let the melody trail off. My eyelids are impossibly heavy, but I fight to keep them open anyway, looking down at the peaceful face of a sleeping Kevin. Thankful that in his trusting innocence, he can have that peace amongst the carnage of what's happening. Grateful that he won't see it when they finish with me and come for him.

“It'll be over soon, my darling.” A single tear drips across the bridge of my nose, but I don't wipe it away.

I can't. If I move my arms, he'll be exposed.

I can't. Because my arms won't work anymore.

Another tear joins the first, then our little bubble shatters and I gasp in shock as the world explodes.

 

_Huh._

_Who knew... I guess those weren't my actual last breaths after all..._

 

An enraged roar shakes the very ground I'm battling against eternal unconsciousness on, cracking through the frozen air with the invisible force of a hurricane. All three animals tense, their feast forgotten, and look to the side in one motion like trained parakeets.

I look too. _Just give me a cracker and call me Polly._

An enormous wolf, black as midnight, is towering impossibly still and foreboding at the edge of the clearing. Its gigantic, ebony paws a stark contrast to the blanket of white crushed under them.

Fuck. My. Life.

 

_If those three Turds are the mini bosses, than this is the level-clearing Daddy Behemoth kind of bad guy._

 

I might not be a nature fan, but one time while I was messing around with a random guy in the woods, I heard a wolf baying at the moon. It freaked me out enough that the poor guy almost became an eunuch that night. 

This is way worse. 

This howl sounds different. Fiercer. Angrier. Truly terrifying. Although my brain knows I have no hope of escape it's still prompting me to break into jibbering, mindless terror and run.

 

_Leave. Now. Lose myself in the woods. Something. Anything._

 

There's no possible way.

Just moving my head was a trial and error process of ridiculous proportions.

The wolf pads closer, a feral energy following in the wake of each step. It creeps out of the shadows as if lured by the smell of blood. It inhales deeply, drawing my attention to the matted fur covering covering its sides where I can see the ladder of its ribcage showing. This is no glossy, well-kept creature. It's a prisoner just escaped from the bowels of Hell.

He looks starved. Ravenous. And super duper intimidating.

 

_Maybe it'll just smush the Turds and swallow me whole, it sure is big enough._

 

There's a rippling wave of tension followed by the faintly metallic clinking of raised hackles and ruffled quills. I flop my head around again and roll my eyes back over to them, catching the Trio taking a page from my playbook and puffing up to make themselves appear larger. A chorus of warning snarls drip menacingly from matching bared teeth.

 

_Awe… All of a sudden, they're twinkies playing at being alpha. Being scared sucks doesn't it? Fuck you._

_I hope they suffer. To death. Forever choking on their own intestines. I wish I could be more personally involved in their demise though. I'm a hands-on kind of gal and practice makes perfect._

 

Big Boss snarls back: a rumbling, deep-throated, gravelly growl. Lips peel back until razor-sharp teeth are on full display, ground to wicked points, dripping with ropes of stringy saliva.

Ew.

There's no contest, Boss is the boss. As in THE BOSS. I whimper wordlessly, caught in the middle. Exposed. Turds clinging possessively to my backside, Wackjob Wolfy slavering equally possessively over my front.

Panic seizes my guts.

 

_Well, at least they're still intact enough to seize._

_There's that shitty silver lining again. Goody._

 

As a kid one of my favorite movies was The Never-Ending Story. I've probably seen it a hundred times, but I always had to shut my eyes and hide my face during one single moment. The introduction of Gmork. A ultra creepy black wolf that would make my heart pound and I'd jump in my seat every time, even knowing exactly what was coming.

I feel a lot like that now except real is MUCH scarier than animatronic, and I'm not sure how this ends.

And Mr. Doesn't Need A Wolfpack Because It Probably Already Ate Them Too Bad About The Tapeworm, looks like he's ready to tear us all to shreds too.

Wile E. Wolfy paces closer, head moving from me to them, and back to me again as if strategically assessing its next move. But that can't be right. That level of intelligence should be impossible from an animal. My brain must be misreading the situation.

 

_I am sorta dying at the moment._

 

Fur bristling out like a wire brush, it gives another freaky roar that sounds almost like an entirely different predator. The sound is frightening but that not what scares me the most. Its the eyes—those intelligent, fearsome eyes.

They're blue. A bright, hypnotizing blue. Familiar?

 

_Wait._

_No._

_It can't be..._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> But we're all really hoping it is, right??
> 
> ::HUGS::
> 
> <3


	37. Wolf Among Us

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Sunday Funday my lovely Ballers!!!
> 
> ::Hugs:: You guys are totally my favorite folks! All your comments make me giddy with delight!! I look forward to reading each and every one <3

 

No one ever asks what the steep decline into utter defeat feels like. Maybe sharing that hopelessness with the world is too personal, or maybe it's assumed the answer is obvious. I guess, in a way it is...

It feels like racing as if your ass is on fire toward the phlegmatic toddler gearing up for the sneeze of a lifetime, only to be a second too late and goober-laden snot completely misses the proffered tissue and covers everything within a half-mile radius.

It's like being forced to draw happy faces and tape them to broom and mop handles just so you can have SOME attendance at your New Year's party, only to end up drinking yourself into a tear-filled stupor because they hautedly rejected the alcohol with hate-laden silence. Stupid broom/mop-people.

It's like leaving the house with plenty of time to reach your destination, like a good and responsible adult. Only to be stuck behind a massive truck with a handicap sticker, a set of testicles hanging from the trailer hitch, and a vanity plate with 'RAWRRR' proudly displayed under the tailgate. When that particular excuse for tardiness tumbles from your lips, it's met with stunned disbelief. Because seriously, who does that? 

It's like sliding on a new pair of cute panties with a damn sexy ass-shimmy, only to catch an accidental glimpse in the mirror mid-flounce and double over in a laughing/coughing/choking combo that ends in a teenie pee-squirt. Thus ruining said pair of fabulous undies with a stain that refuses to come out and the dilemma of whether to wear them anyway.

It's like finally losing those obnoxious ten pounds you've been torturing yourself over all year, only to gain a minimum of five back after eating one freaking slice of veggie pizza. It's vegetables goddamn it! 

It's like getting a set of stunning unicorn nails, only to break the tip off middle finger starting your car. And then having to face the walk of shame, complete with the curious stares of busybody pedicure clients and the condemning eyeballs of the manicurist who slaved over an hour to apply them.

It's like cleaning every stitch of dirty laundry in the entire house, only to realize that since you aren't a professional nudist, you must put your worn attire in the stunningly empty hamper at the end of the day. And thus start the never-ending cycle all over again.

It feels like hell…

It feels like this.

 

_Fucking defeat. The hatred is strong in this one._

 

You know... Some days you're the bug and somedays you're the windshield. Today I'm definitely the bug, splattered guts and all...

Or… uh… maybe I'm the windshield??

 

_Or both. Shit, I'm not even sure anymore._

 

I find myself locking gazes with the beast who most likely intends to speed up my death. Maybe. I don't know. I don't know anything anymore. All I know is my world is dominated by blue.

Those eyes...

Honestly, they make me really uncomfortable. They're too eerily insightful. Too creepy intelligent to belong on an animal. It's weird. I feel like I should be looking at the face of a man not a slobbery, wolfy one the pitch black color of rain-soaked pavement.

My whole spine shivers in revulsion as I stare in morbid fascination at the viscosity of the ropey trail dripping in slow motion halfway to the ground. Yes, I realize that is not terribly important in the grand scheme of things, but it's damn mesmerizing. Like one of those glittery sensory bottles or a lava lamp of particle-laden saliva.

I'm in some kind of hypnotized trance as I wait for it to reach the ground.

 

_Ew._

_Have I mentioned the SUPER gross, creep factor? Where is all that nasty, foamy gunk coming from?_

_If it somehow **is**  Solas in disguise, I'm now even **more** disturbed. Because. Wow. _

_All hail The Slobber King._

 

I forcefully pull my eyes back up the snout.

How many times have I gazed into a seemingly similar blue and been lost in the stormy skies of turbulent emotion? _But is it him?_ Mr. Arrogant and Annoyingly Proper Man who does occasionally behave like an animal when pushed, but doesn't have any magical shape-changing ability that I'm aware of. A riptide of blue that contains fathomless depths. Midnight and cerulean, cloudless summer sky and blueberry jellybeans, reflected steel and—

If I had the extra energy, I'd snort.

Here I am, half-dead and half-naked, ripped up like I fell on an extra-friendly chainsaw, getting all moony over the memory of a pair of eyeballs. How is that not ridiculous?

 

_B-hole biscuit dumper, I've lost my mind._

_And he truly can't actually shape change outside of fictional stories. Can he?_

 

Like an ugly girl finally being asked to dance in a crowded night club, hope rears its head. My throat is suffocatingly thick with two equally overpowering emotions: the desperate desire that Solas has finally come for us and a knawing dread that I'm only seeing the salvation that I need in my darkest hour.

 

_There's only one way to find out._

 

“Solas?” 

The breath of a whisper is a catalyst. Or possibly just the observation that the yummy, already-tenderized for consuming convenience prey on the ground is bleeding heavily but still alive enough to play with. I'm still unsure. Whatever it is, it sparks the wolf into a sprint, and I can't help but shudder with each footfall as the it bounds toward us. Huge paws charge directly at me with its open jaw and mouth frothing. I freeze up in fear like the terrified little girl I totally feel like on the inside right this minute.

On the outside, I'm manly. Broken and bloody, but of course very manly.

 

_Yeah._

_Now is the perfect time to be excited to have a dick._

_Yea. Go me._

 

The Turdly Trio thunders around me, stamping and circling. They're teetering a little, like a jostled line of dominoes, from the unhealed injuries obtained from yours truly. My chest puffs slightly with pride. Justice is a dish best served cold because if it were served warm, it would be justwater.

 

_Just-ice. Just-water. Damn I'm hilarious._

 

The muscles in their massive limbs bunch to jump. By mistake, or on purpose one smacks me with a tail, rocking my position. I grunt weakly as the numbness gives way to more endless pain, fighting to remain huddled over a now-awake and squirming Kevin.

The wolf hurls its hulking form to meet them mid-air and — nothing...

 

_Yes, I absolutely closed my eyes. Fuck bravery._

 

I lay there on my side like a half-eaten zombie survivor sunbathing in the moonlight, and time slides away as I listen to what I can only hope is the very loud ending of some really stinky turds. Let’s call it a glorious melody of cathartic slaughter. Squeals and animalistic screams punctuated with those inhuman roars. Every now and then, I'm hit with the sprinkler spray of warm liquid. I keep my mouth firmly shut around my occasional whimpers.

 

_Because. Again. Gross._

 

Then, all is quiet. Deadly quiet.

I look. I have to. I can't possibly not.

Wolfgang Wolf remains crouched in place, sides heaving in deep pants, tail lashing the air. I can hear its quick breaths and the twigs breaking beneath paws as it starts padding closer, leaving behind the three crumpled corpses of nightmares.

Two corpses.

One just moved. I think. My eyes squint with strain.

Yes. The flank shivered. I'm certain of it. Now all I can see is the ravenous black of its one remaining eye peeling open and rotating my direction. Tracking me and the wolf. Back and forth. Hunting us both now. How is it still alive? _How am I still alive?_

 

_Shit._

 

I'm stuck in a horror movie where your screaming at the main character to beat the bad guy to a bloody pulp, not just hit him and run. To go back and check their pulse, or at least glance back over a shoulder. I struggle to breathe a warning to my savior or my executioner.

Either way.

My mouth springs open in a shocked, voiceless scream.

I fight for sound as the moons pulse overhead, in perfect timing to my weak pulse. The woods swim, the trees no longer straight but wiggly wavelengths transmitting my horror. Their shadows growing larger and longer across the snow, reaching out for us all with deadly fingers of darkness. Black as ink. Unnatural.

 

_This makes no sense. Am I imagining this?_

 

Wilder-wolf the Indomitable isn't paying any attention to the strange shadows. In fact, it looks like Beasty intentionally steps directly in the midst of them. The rivers of black claw up paws and legs, enveloping its enormous body in a cauldron of bubbling tar-like smoke. Even when the inky tendrils close over its massive head, it's only focus is still on me and—

 

_Wait._

_Where's Kevin?_

 

A primal fear rushes through me as I desperately scan the snow for a small peach shape, but my attention is split like a baby boomer superglued to the awesome channel flipping powers of the remote control during a commercial break. Magic is unfolding in front of me and it's a scene straight from an anime movie.

Shadows roll off the wolf in waves, like an Alka Seltzer meets baking soda pet dander explosion. Pawsy is no more. Seconds ago, I was in a clearing with Slobber-Wolf Extraordinare in the middle of the night, now there's only the king of the mountain left standing. Sort of hunched over and favoring a side, but still technically standing. And wearing a long cloak. The hood is up and there’s a black hole where a face should be.

Maybe ex-wolf doesn't have a face.

The tall shape takes a stumbling step forward before thrusting a fist into the dark hooded robe, and falling into a stride my direction. The black fabric billows out behind the featureless form in a forebodingly dramatic fashion, like a grim reaper without its scythe. Even through my tunnel vision, I see the cape flap open and long fingers wrapped around a blue vial.

Blue and red. Blue and red.

Red.

So much red. There's blood everywhere.

 

_Where. Is. Kevin._

 

The head tilts back, draining the glass quickly. The hood falls and I think a ghost of a smile crosses my lips. Everything's so numb now I'm not exactly sure.

Solas…

He came. I'm surprised and not, at the same time. My whole world is him. Him and the a bright red vial that appears in his grasp, smoothly displacing the empty one which slips from his hand as he throws it carelessly to the side.

And then I don't care anymore.

I don't see him. I don't see anything but broken glass sparkling like iridescent glitter on the impossibly tiny animal lying on its side.

Unmoving.

“No…” It's barely a sound at all. I try desperately to make my arms work, to reach out for my nug baby. Fuck. My limbs are useless, cumbersome weights. My heart bleeds tears of pain and in that moment, I lose everything I've fought for.

Including consciousness.

 

* * *

 

Samuel L. Jackson sits perched on an overstuffed armchair, legs crossed at the knee. His foot bobs up and down as his fingers pick aimlessly at a tear running along one stained tuft. He straightens when he notices me as if he's been waiting for me to stir.

"After this, there is no turning back. You take the blue pill—the story ends, you wake up in your bed and believe whatever you want to believe." He reaches into his pocket and holds out his palm to me.

 

_Wait._

_What. The. Holy. Hell. Is. This?_

 

“This is wrong. You're not the right black man.” The words blurt out and I can't help thinking that **that**  isn't the most important observation at the moment. Again. What I should be asking is—

“You take the red pill—you stay in Wonderland, and I show you how deep the rabbit hole goes.” Samuel/Morpheus continues as if I didn't say anything.

 

_Rabbit hole? Didn't I already fall down that once already and wake up with a incurable fungus?_

_Are there even rabbits in Thedas? I thought there were just nugs…_

 

_**Kevin!** _

 

Pain sears scars in my brain.

I scream, and scream, and scream. It's a weak, pitiful sound.

Eyes snapping open at the mewling, my world spins uncontrollably as I'm rolled onto my back. Concentrating hard on making my stiff fingers into claws, I fight to turn my head so I can see the lonely bit of peach, lost amongst all the red and white backdrop of a battlefield. Kevin is lying there ignored and forgotten like the torn doll left behind after the Hun army destroyed everything.

 

_Damn you, Disney. I love Mulan, but how many tears have you wrenched from my eyeballs over the years?_

_And damn it even more, Kevin still hasn't moved. Is he dead?_ _No. No._

 

_**No!** _

 

I squeeze my eyes shut and shriek uselessly some more, bile burning the back of my throat.

“ _Look at me._ ” The words are furious. Guttural. Different. I recognize the voice anyway, but I can't relax.

I can't look away. _Kevin…_  

For a long moment, nothing happens except debilitating grief. Then I hear a voice from above me calm and impossible: "Look at me." The calmness doesn't match the frantic movements of his fingers as he turns my head..

The words are fuzzy and far away. Solas is crouching in the snow on his knees beside me, favoring his side as if in pain while trying to gently catch my flailing head. His eyes are dark with red rimmed lids. They look effervescent and shiny with unshed moisture, and more worried than if he'd caught me singing Brittney Spears while eating mayonnaise straight out of the jar.

“Foolish child, what lunacy possessed you? We could have lost everything—everything.” His mouth snaps closed and he swallows, and I suddenly find myself more afraid of those angry eyes than the Turds empty ones. He wants to shake me, to yell at me. I can see it in the way his whole body thrums with tension, the way his hand shakes with uncontrollable tremors as he pulls the stopper from the red vial and holds it to my lips.

 

_Is it too late?_

 

“S-s-olas.” I grit out through chattering teeth. I'm shivering so hard I wonder if I might have cracked one. The temperature is bone cold. So goddamned cold. It’s the kind of cold that settles deep inside bones and stains itself to the marrow. A cold, no matter how many flames I encounter later in life, I’ll never be able to warm.

“Lucy.” His face softens and his thumb brushes the corner of my mouth, catching the drop that almost escaped.

Closing my eyes, I sigh in relief. The burn of whiskey with a cinnamon chaser coats my tongue as I swallow. I feel the warmth slide down my esophagus and pool in my belly, spreading and branching out instantly.

Now this is magic...

 

**Blink**

 

Above me the stars are a painting of brilliant colors on a midnight canvas of night, lit up pinpricks of creams and whites that are mere peeks into the heavens. Reaching out to me, to my soul, in a way very few things do. The twin moons shine brightly, like beacons calling me to come to them.

The glory shining above is a dream made real and I am humbled by the privilege of seeing it.

Wait...

 

**Blink**

 

Confusion clouds my thoughts.

I'm missing something.

A puzzle as mysterious as a new brown spot on otherwise flawless beige carpet. The kind that must be investigated, but it could be a code brown poop scare. 

Bare trees with skeletal fingers all around. Bone white fibers grasping at me, stripped of warmth and heavily laden from a recent snow. A picture of wintry misery. I think it looks quite beautiful. Dead and melancholic, it fits my mood perfectly.

But why?

 

**Blink**

 

Stars scattered in artistic abandon.

A blanket of twinkling diamond dust.

Glittering bits. Pieces. Slivers.

Sparkling like shattered glass.

Wait…

 

**Blink**

 

Am I losing time? Shouldn't I feel better?

I curl my fingers and roll my wrists experimentally. They work.

Memories flash through my mind in rapid succession. I reach out for Solas but find only empty air. _What's going on?_  I flop my head on a wobbly neck, my eyes searching for clues. And suddenly my mouth tastes of bile and not life-saving potion. Glass glints, a tube nestled in an empty, torn robe.

No.

What's left of that beautiful scarlet is dripping out slowly in a puddle of wasted resources.

 

_Murky mother of mac and cheese, this fucking figures._

_Quick, quick, quick. If I'm fast enough I can save some._

 

Inhaling deeply first, I psyche myself up and roll over onto my stomach in a surprisingly easy move. Until a wet slither of something falls from my still split back and I almost puke my toenails out my nose.

 

_Oh. God. Was that an organ? An important one?_

_Don't think about it._

_Stop thinking about it._

_Fuck._

 

I reach out behind me blindly and reassemble myself, like I'm a fluffy teddy bear that just lost a little stuffing. Yep. Just a sexy elf teddy with pretty peacock eyes and aqua doodles. Nothing to worry about. I just have to make it a couple of feet while staying intact.

Inhaling again and then exhaling every swear I can think of in alphabetical order, I inch closer. I don't know what's going on around me, and I don't know where the hell Solas ran off to, but I'm damn proud of myself when I reach the almost empty glass container. Scooping it up before it's completely useless, I tilt it to my mouth. But before it has a chance to do anything more than wet my lips, I notice tiny peach legs peeking out from under the edge of Solas' discarded robe.

Potion forgotten for the moment, I belly crawl forward one-handed. I swear I can actually hear all the shattered pieces clanking together with every fucked up beat of my heart. Shaking badly, I move aside the cloth.

 

_Kevin somehow managed to drag himself through the snow to be next to me... He was still trying to protect me..._

_I can't take this. It's too much._

 

As I make out the unmoving silhouette in its little well of snow, I feel any hope trail away. Edging closer, I see the blood darkening underneath him, and the fringe of lashes brushing his pudgy cheeks. At least his face is unmarked and no longer taut with confusion or fear; in the half-light, he merely looks like he's sleeping.

"I'm sorry I couldn't save you," I manage at last, feeling my own cheeks grow newly wet. I pet soft ears over and over, lost in my grief. “I tried, Kevin. Damn it, I tried.”

One teenie hoof twitches and my eyes widen in disbelief.

 

_And now, I have a choice._

_As if I would choose anything different. As if. I made this guy a promise and I won't give up on him._

 

A huff, like a hard exhale. A putrid stench of gangrenous, dirty socks ruffles my hair.

 

_God. Bless. Texas._

 

The laugh that escapes from me, sounds harsh and crazed. The air surrounding me is suddenly moist and tropical hot, but it freezes every muscle in my body except my heart. That fibrous fist of tissue in my chest sure is getting a workout. And my giggle box is broken on the wildly inappropriate setting.

“Lucy!” My head turns with the exclamation, catching Solas flinging an arm out towards me with a desperate cry.

A visual out of the corner of my eye will haunt my nightmares forever. A reincarnated One-Eye set on revenge. The beast is drenched in shades of red and mauled tendon from bone. 

 

_How is it still alive?_

 

It plunges forward and I brace myself for the pain headed my way, instinctively spreading my arms out to cover the vulnerable body of a barely hanging in there baby nug. There's pressure but nothing else. No racing fire, no slice and dice.

Nothing.

That's when I notice the blurry fog coating my skin like cling wrap. A protective barrier that just saved my life.

 

_Yes! Thank you, Solas!_

_About damn time he started throwing some magic around. He yammers on about being a mage. Why did it take him so long?_

 

The timing of these barriers is limited, I know that, so every second is essential and precious. Quickly but carefully I raise up on my knees, keeping myself at an angle. Mindful of my back and the potential stuffing leakage, I flap out the cape and tie it tightly around my torso like an emo sarong. I triple knot that sucker, never taking my eyes off the Silent Hill/Resident Evil reject snarling at me.

How many seconds do I have left?

Not enough.

Solas is racing to my side, only moving his gaze over to Turdly the Insufferable when he sees the vial in my hand. Relief reads plainly upon his face, but his eyes flash back over to me and his jaw hardens when I pry open Kevin's mouth.

"Little fool," he spits out. His face set in lines I don't care to decipher. "Do not sacrifice yourself for that useless animal." When I ignore him and continue, the look he flays me with is indescribable. “ **Lucifer**! No!” His is voice tight with rage.

Two things happen at once: I tilt Kevin's head back, pouring the remaining potion into his unresponsive form, massaging his throat to ensure it stays down. And two: Solas' yell silences itself when from his lips comes a spray of blood. Porcu-pet the One-Eyed Destroyer with nine lives chose exactly that moment to take another go at me right as Solas inserts himself between us. Just as my skin blur fizzles out.

 

_Okay, **three**  things. Stuff is happening fast. It's really hard to keep up._

 

It's as if Solas knew everything that was fixing to happen and dodged in front of me anyway.

Reds mingle merrily with each other when they both hit the ground. Important fluid from his veins wasted as he chokes from out of his torn windpipe, desperate for air, gurgling the river rushing down his throat. His hand glows as he swipes across his own neck, flinging the blood off to the side without care, as if brushing raindrops off an umbrella.

He stands steadily. 

One foot and then the other, like a gladiator you thought was finished but is just getting started. Like everything that happened before was just a warm up for what's about to take place.

Solas' drab shirt and leggings hang around his body in shreds. He's covered in blood and looks as if he had been savaged by a bear, but I've never seen a more welcome sight. He glances back at me, his face cruelly beautiful. The sharp angles could cut rock. In another time and place, I would have been happy to stare at him forever. He practically _glows_ with fury. It's awesome.

And then he spins. A very wrathful spin.

 

_Goody._

 

All that lean muscle and—power. I swear it even looks like his skin is seeping black smoke.

I blink a couple times in rapid succession.

 

_His skin **is**  seeping black smoke._

 

Rolling my eyes a little, I continue ogling Mr. God the show-off. Watching the lithe grace that will never be mine to wield. I'm not envious, I'm fascinated. And a little turned on.

A laugh bubbles out of my throat, it’s rough and sounds like an old man’s, but the realization that even in the condition I’m in, I can still think of Solas in a sexual way—amuses the shit out of me. My chest constricts in pain, but I press my hand to it and keep laughing, I’ve had worse.

“What could possibly be so humorous?” He aims my way tightly as he pelts One-Eye with a blast of force, pushing him back a few feet. His words are clipped at the end of each one. At every giggle, he gets more agitated, more upset.

 

_Something about not being dead makes me not give a shit about propriety._

 

“My ever-present hard-on for you.” I look up as I answer and laugh harder. My laughter turns into coughing, but I make it through it and ignore the taste of blood in my mouth. Laughter is precious, and I refuse to let something as stupid as pain stop it from happening.

He looks at a loss for words, tongue darting out to moisten his lips. Finally, with a gesture that looks almost casual, he freezes the beast solid in one big icicle turd.

 

_Why didn't he lead with that move? Seriously. That would have saved a lot of time._

 

Turning, he stares at me levelly. “I truly do not understand you sometimes.”

“Yeah, I'm a real mystery.”

“What you are is—”

I will never know what he was about to say because his words are interrupted by a bolt as thick as my arm spearing the frozen statue of Turd the Third.

 

> _It's raining skin, Hallelujah!_  
>  _It's raining, skin once again—_

 

**SHIT!**

 

I'm rolling over Kevin again in a heartbeat, protecting him from the jagged projectiles. _Why couldn't it just shudder with impact and drop to the ground with a thud?_ The forward momentum from the bolt seals Turdly's doom, sending him into the forever after with a fond farewell. But it also probably seals mine, as it propels deadly icicles into my back like cannibalistic homing pigeons.

 

_Oh God. Not. The. Back._

 

The collisions knock the breath out of me, so I can't scream. I'd like to, great big howling screams. The tips of those icy spikes are EXACTLY as sharp as I thought they'd be. There's no telling what parts of me are screwed or how extensive the damage is.

 

_I'm like a shish-kabob lovingly marinated with digestive excrement and Ebola. Awesome._

_But, hey — I'm still not dead. I'm still breathing. For now. That's a pretty good sign._

_That's something._

 

I try to move before I collapse and squish Kevin. I don't know where I'm going to go, but I sure as hell try to scoot away from the piles of slowly thawing bits of turd. All while wheezing pitiful sounds from the searing pain in my EVERYWHERE.

Solas collapses again at my side peering at me as words came out of his mouth. I don’t understand him, though I think I catch a “fuck” here and there through the ringing in my ears. His mutters help keep my mind away from the liquids oozing over his fingers.

 

**Blink**

 

“H.. need… elp!” Solas is addressing someone but I can’t concentrate, so I stare into his eyes. They're comforting, even in the dark. A steely blue. Like water beneath a stormy sky.

“Solas,” I whisper. My throat feels sunburned. Sweat soaks the hair covering my neck. Wind gusts hair across my face. Something drips from my head. Or onto my head. I can’t tell which.

The blue disappears from view to be replaced with lustrous golden chest hair. It ripples like a river, or maybe that's the sea that's swimming in my eyes as I fight to keep them open.

A blurry face appears over mine. Too close. “Loopy, we’re going to lift now.” The gravelly quality of his storyteller voice breaks up a few times as he forces the sentence out.

I can’t nod and my mouth makes no sound.

For a moment, I feel weightless. Free. I imagine it’s how birds feel soaring through the sky.

 

_Maybe there's a rainbow nearby after all?_

 

Gravity quickly reminds me that something’s amiss. My body feels like it’s on fire. I wince when I’m jostled into someone's arms. Solas. The lemon and leather aroma wraps around me like freshly oiled mahogany. Everything is a watery blur from behind foggy vision.

 

_People fundamentally have a deep-seated craving for a sense of family, belonging, identity._

_Looking back, I realize that the life I left behind wasn't as complete and filling as I once believed it to be. It's amazing how distracted we can get from the things that are most important. How convinced we can make ourselves that having a bigger house or a better car will give us the same sense of accomplishment as a simple hug from a loved one._

 

The arms supporting me tighten imperceptibly.

 

_I can't begin to understand the fantastical circumstances that have led me to this world. Quantum physics is rather beyond my understanding. Feeling the sharp edges of impending death every other day like a carnival, sword-swallowing routine is certainly not a life I would've voluntarily chosen._

 

“Lucy, stay with me.” The voice is melodic and soothing. It pulls me from the precipice that's calling a siren's song.

I open my eyes and slide my gaze to him. I want to memorize his features but my eyes won’t focus enough to get a good look.

 

_I'm certain this is the life I would choose now._

 

Something pokes at me, as sharp as a scalpel sliding across the bones of my spine. My body screams with pain. It feels like there’s a noose around my throat so tight, stars dance behind my eyes.

“ **Lucy**!”

I pry my heavy eyelids open, but my vision instantly fuzzes black at the corners. I fall deep into that churning water, a storm of blue raging above me.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Until next time, I love you! 
> 
> Thanks for reading <3


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